The Reluctant Bridegroom
by Lillianpost
Summary: Before he died, Thror wrote a law ordering Thorin to choose a bride by a certain time or one would be chosen for him. Now at Erebor two years after BOFA, his nephews and friends try to help him escape his fate, but Thorin is intrigued when a mysterious informant joins in. Thorin, OC, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin, Dain, and company
1. Prologue

**This story has no connection to any of my others, but I thought I'd have a little fun at Thorin's expense with all these efforts I read of people trying to set him up. Of course, I wrote my own story about him falling in love, so I guess this is at my expense as well! This is a little short, but more will come if enough people are interested. I still have to finish two other stories that are out there!**

* * *

**Prologue**

Thorin scanned the document and read and reread each paragraph with narrowed eyes, desperately searching for a loophole that would let him escape a fate he thought worse than torture and death. He had been searching for a way out late into the night or early into the morning, depending on one's point of view. Light from the fire illuminated his drawn and tired face while the flames reflected on the polished granite walls, making it seem like he was surrounded by an inescapable fire. Perhaps he was.

"There must be a way," he muttered while tracing his finger down the long scroll. Then he grabbed for another. His huge, mahogany desk was littered with them.

"It's no use, laddie," Balin said as he stood by the black, granite fireplace. The flames crackled happily, at odds with the gloomy mood of the room's occupants. "It's ironclad. You must wed while you're still able to, uh, beget an heir."

Thorin looked up and tossed his head.

"No one took issue with Fili and Kili being my heirs before we retook Erebor," he retorted angrily, flicking his fingers against the parchment, "and the council knew that my grandfather wasn't in his right mind when he wrote this. Look at his handwriting!"

Balin nodded but shrugged helplessly. "I know, but Thror was still king, and it is still the law. It's bad luck that they found the scroll in the archives, but now it stands that if you don't choose a bride before Durin's Day, the council will choose one for you." He gave Thorin a look.

"And you _know_ who _that_ will be."

Thorin's mouth pulled to one side in disgust. Onkra, daughter of Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills, was a ferociously ugly and ill-mannered dwarrowdam who had all the benefits of nobility and none of its graces. Thorin called her "the oinker" in private.

"But cheer up, laddie," Balin started, determined to look on the less dire side, "you might find someone to bump along with well enough or even find someone you can like. You never know."

Thorin thought rapidly through the candidates, most of whom he already knew—at least by reputation—and he scoffed while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Let's see," he began sarcastically, "I can choose to bed one of several children, a number of fortune hunters, or a gaggle of brainless nitwits. Of all the roughly 20 who qualify, I don't know of any I can respect or even tolerate."

Balin sighed. The pickings were slim for dwarrowdams in any case and even scarcer for those of the nobility.

"So let me understand clearly," Thorin said finally. "All I have to do is bed my wife and provide an heir and then I never have to deal with her again?"

Balin nodded. "Aye, that about sums it up excepting for royal appearances, but you don't have to talk to her."

Thorin ran his hands through his graying hair.

"Very well then, Balin," he said, "send for all who qualify and prepare to play host for the next month."

Balin bowed and left to make preparations, and the king of Erebor sagged back in his chair.

"May Mahal have mercy on me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all for your lovely reviews, PM's, and follows! You all made my day. My goodness, I totally forgot about context with the first chapter, so this will make up for it (I hope). I also changed it so that Thror wrote the law since it was found at Erebor. I thought it made more sense. Also, the "end of the year" I changed to Durin's Day. I guess that what happens when inspiration strikes but editing doesn't. This chapter sets up what's coming next, but I have a few twists and turns in store, so stay tuned and please review!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Thorin paced around the long granite table in the council chambers, his silver-streaked hair swinging with every stride, and prepared what he was going to say. Fili had been groomed as his heir even from before they reclaimed Erebor, and now, with a stroke of a mad king's hand, he loses his place.

_It's not fair. The lad deserves better._

Rubbing two fingers against his temple, he thought back to those days when he nearly lost his mind but was saved by a hobbit's courage and the love and sacrifice of his kin. Those days seemed like another lifetime but, in truth, were only two years ago.

_They were willing to give their lives to save me when I fell in battle,_ he thought. _I nearly lost the only family I have left._

Thankfully, the brothers' injuries, while grave, were not fatal, and all three recovered after a long convalescence.

_Meanwhile, these self-important lords and elders searched the archives and installed themselves,_ Thorin recalled bitterly. _Now I'm at their mercy, but I make my own oath on Durin's tomb that I will find a way to rid myself of them once and for all._

Then the door opened, and Fili and Kili stepped in, both looking solemn. Thorin motioned for them to take a seat.

"We'd rather stand, uncle," Fili said soberly. "We already know what you're going to say. We overheard some of the council members talking."

Thorin closed his eyes and groaned, shaking a mental fist at those thrice-damned dignitaries. Then he sighed and nodded. His careful words fell by the wayside.

"Aye, well, then you know I must be wed before Durin's Day or else a bride will be chosen for me," he said more harshly than he intended. "You deserve better, lads, but I'm afraid there's no help for it."

Fili stood erect with his hand on the pommel of his sword. He looked unusually grim, with his mouth set in a tight line, the usually merry twinkle gone. Kili stepped in next to him looking just as stern. Thorin had not seen them this serious since he took them to task years ago for jumping in the river before they knew how to swim.

"Was it me, uncle?" Fili asked stiffly, clearly expecting to hear a litany of complaints. "Did they find fault with me that they're forcing you into this?"

"And I, uncle?" Kili added, looking downcast. "Do I share the blame for this?"

Staring open-mouthed at them, Thorin stood dumbfounded. He had expected disappointment or resentment, perhaps, but not guilt. He strode forward and gripped Fili's arms.

"No, lad, no!" he said forcefully. "Of course not," he added more gently. He smiled fondly at them.

"You both would make better kings than I," he said firmly, "and I couldn't be prouder of you. This has nothing to do with you."

He ran his hands over his face while Fili and Kili looked at each other with raised brows.

"It has everything to do with a decree that King Thror wrote in his madness," he began with more than a trace of seething anger, "and that decree specifically states that I must wed or else a bride will be chosen for me. Of course, in the event she doesn't conceive, you'll still be my heir."

Fili stepped forward, confusion written all over his face.

"But why now, uncle?" he asked urgently. "Why the rush?"

Thorin grinned mirthlessly. This was an insult if ever there was one.

"Because I am, as the council decreed, 'entering _elder_ age' and may not be able to sire an heir if I wait any longer," he said. Fili and Kili gasped in unison.

"That's preposterous!" Kili said stoutly. "Dwarves much older than you are _still_ having children."

"Aye, uncle," Fili agreed, "you're in your prime."

Thorin shook his head. The council deliberated long and hard on this and came to a unanimous conclusion. Only Balin could calm him down hours later after he heard the council members' reasoning. The doors he punched through were promptly replaced.

"If it were only the begetting of a child, the council would have agreed with you," he said, "but then comes the matter of preparing the child to rule, and that _I_ must do and be young enough to do it. The council went to elaborate lengths to calculate the necessary time needed and arrived at this year."

"But, but," Fili spluttered, "you're king! Surely you can change the law or change the terms at least."

Thorin sighed and braced one hand on the table with his back to them.

"My grandfather ordered it as a binding oath on the Tomb of Durin," he muttered, "and the timing was left to the council's discretion."

The brothers stared horrified. That oath was seldom used for it was considered both sacred and irrevocable.

"But why, uncle?" Fili asked sorrowfully. "Why did he do that to you?"

Thorin swung around, anger deepening every line of his face.

"Because he was mad!" he roared. "All he cared about was securing Durin heirs to protect his precious treasure for all time!"

He put his fist to his mouth and stepped away, shaking his head. He knew he needed to control himself lest he embitter them as well but failed miserably. He turned away only to feel his nephews step close to him.

"He did care, uncle," Kili said, choosing his words carefully. "He cared enough to see to your welfare and not leave you alone to rule. You know how much he loved your grandmother. Perhaps he knew that you were alone and wanted something better for you."

Thorin hadn't considered that before, but if Thror wanted to show his affection for him, he could have done so in any number of better ways. Still, to be alone was Thror's greatest fear and, perhaps through his madness, a glimmer of loving concern shone through. His eyes stung as he recognized Kili's efforts to soothe his pain.

_A fine dwarrow he's become._

"So you aren't upset, nephews?" he asked.

The brothers shook their heads and smiled widely.

"Your boots are too big to fill, uncle," Fili said with a flashing grin, "and I rather like the greater freedom of being a prince. I don't fancy taking on what you've had to deal with."

Kili nodded. "Aye, we're only worried for you, uncle."

"I thank you, lads," he rumbled, his eyes suspiciously glassy. Then he shook himself out of his melancholy. "However, the fact remains that noble dwarrowdams from the various clans will descend on Erebor within the month, and I must choose one." He took a deep breath. "And I'll need your help."

The brothers glanced at each other. This was new. Their uncle always expected their service to Erebor, but _he_ seldom needed their help. The last time was when they stood over his prone body on the battlefield, but even then, he didn't ask them for it. He was already unconscious.

"Our help?" Fili asked.

Thorin waved one hand in the air. This was one subject that he was loath to talk about, but it must be faced if he was to have any control or make any success of what must come. He winced as he faced his nephews.

"I'll need some help with, uh, charm," he said. "I'm not known for being particularly good with females other than your mother, and even then …."

He didn't need to say anymore. Dis, while she was still living, called him the unpolished rock-head of Ered Luin. Growing up, the brothers grew used to hearing her grumpy but ultimately good-natured complaints about her brother's lack of sensitivity—something they had seen for themselves on many an occasion.

"Of course, uncle," Fili said, quickly stifling all desire to laugh until a later time. "We'll help out in whatever way you need, right, Kili?"

"Aye," Kili agreed, trying hard but failing to keep a smirk off his face, "whatever you need."

"Thank you," Thorin replied, flicking his hand to dismiss them, "I appreciate your support." Then he sat down in his chair. They left quietly.

The brothers walked down the hall silently, each lost in his thoughts. They had always revered their uncle, but they became especially close to him while they all recovered from their injuries. It was Mahal's kindness that they survived, and it changed them. Thorin shared more of himself than he ever had before. His bout with gold sickness made him less concerned with wealth and status and more concerned with those he loved. Never one for showing much emotion, he became much more free with his affection and favor, and his nephews thrived on it. In turn, they became more thoughtful and responsible, and they loved him with fierce loyalty. Now he was threatened, and they took it personally.

"This just isn't fair to uncle," Kili said hotly while they walked down a wide, polished hallway with golden torches hanging in gem-encrusted, wall sconces. "No matter whom he chooses, you know he'll be unhappy because he was forced into it. We need to do something, but what?"

"I dunno," Fili answered with a frown. "The only way uncle could get out of this is if none of the dwarrowdams want to marry him."

Kili stopped in the corridor.

"Say that again."

"I said, that the only way that uncle could get out of it would be if.…" Fili trailed off and broke into a devious grin.

Though the brothers had matured greatly, their penchant for pranks never disappeared completely. Once the cause of half Thorin's headaches at Ered Luin, their childish antics evolved over the years into clever traps that now bedeviled anyone who gave their uncle grief. One such took place after they found him rubbing his head and looking exhausted after a difficult council meeting. Their response was for a senior advisor to find an "ancient" scroll ordering council members to observe a week of strict silence each month to ponder weighty matters with due diligence.

"Nephews, this is completely unacceptable," Thorin had said when he found out why he suddenly had blessed peace a week later. The brothers remembered that he seemed to have a cold that day because he kept turning his back and hacking or clearing his throat. His lips quirked while he talked as though he was trying hard not to cough.

"Completely unacceptable," he repeated after another bout. "Of course, it would reflect badly on you both to admit to this, so I think it best that we keep things as they are."

Later that night, when they went to their chambers, they found exquisite daggers with royal blue sapphires set into the grip and pommel. Runes reading "The King's Protector" were engraved on the gleaming steel blades.

"This is too big for just the two of us," Kili said thinking hard. "We can't take on 20 determined dwarrowdams by ourselves."

"Maybe not, but uncle's utter lack of charm will be a big help," Fili pointed out, "and I'm sure that the company will want to pitch in."

"Right," Kili said setting his face forward to the task, "we'll recruit as many as we can to help out and, while we're at it, we need to, uh, assist the current council members out of their positions."

Fili laughed heartily and then lowered his voice after several advisors stopped and stared.

"I see you retained his lessons on battle strategy."

Kili shook his dark head, his handsome face fierce and determined.

"Not battle strategy, brother, _ambush._"

* * *

**Let the fun begin!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for your wonderful response to this story. The best part is getting to meet you all and say hello again to those who've read my other stories. Welcome back, and many thanks to all of you who wrote such encouraging reviews!**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

While dwarves scurried about Erebor, preparing for unwanted guests, Fili and Kili worked to drum up support for their scheme. First, they asked to speak to Thorin's closest advisors. While the brothers passionately argued their case, Dwalin sat stone-faced with his arms crossed over his chest, and Balin ran his fingers through his beard and pulled out the tangles.

"So let me get this straight, lads," he began after a final tug. "You want us to help you humiliate and terrify our noble dwarrowdams to the point that they run shrieking from our halls?"

Kili turned to his brother in dismay. Like many plotters before them have discovered, their plan sounded much better before they let others in on it.

"Not exactly," Fili countered with a pleading look. "We just need to persuade them to leave uncle be, and if they have a terrible time here, it would change their minds."

Dwalin sat unmoving, but Balin pushed to his feet and wagged his finger.

"Have you forgotten, my lads, that our womenfolk are rarer than mithril and that we are to treat them as rare gems to be cherished and protected?" he said firmly.

The brothers glanced at each other while Balin harangued them on their duty to the females of their race. One of lessons they learned early and repeatedly throughout their lives was that dwarrowdams were their race's true treasure and that all dwarrow were to give their lives for even the lowliest. For a moment, their training warred with their loyalty to Thorin. Then Fili thought of Princess Onkra waddling about Erebor barking orders, and loyalty won out.

"And they are as delicate as the petals of a flower …" Balin huffed with his hands on his hips.

"Do you really want an oinker on the throne?" Fili shouted finally, silencing Balin who was about to argue that dwarrowdams were Mahal's finest filigree creation.

"You were saying, brother?" Dwalin rumbled after a moment of silence, his thick mustache twitching. "As delicate as the petals of a flower?"

Balin's nostrils flared as he advanced on the princes.

"Have you no _SHAME!_" he seethed. "How dare you call a lady of noble blood such an odious name!"

But Fili would not back down and stood toe to toe, matching glares with the old dwarf.

"I think he meant to say '_The_ Oinker,'" Dwalin offered calmly.

Balin looked over aghast.

"Not you, too, brother! Have you forgotten yourself?"

Dwalin remained unruffled.

"He means Princess Onkra," he said, "and you can't fault him when Thorin calls her the same."

Balin's mouth formed a perfect "o."

"Do you remember the time that Dain traveled to Ered Luin with his daughter?"

Balin searched his memory, and all watched him twitch and shudder when he recalled the peevish and homely princess. It was only a month-long visit, but she almost sent the dwarves fleeing to the Shire. Walking about with a plate in her hands, she spent the entire visit stuffing her face with jam tarts and making outrageous demands like ordering the kitchen to stay open around the clock so she could have hot apple pie and fresh biscuits dusted with powdered sugar and nutmeg whenever she wanted. Balin rubbed his mouth and cringed. The already obese princess insisted that the seamstresses stop their work to make her a new gown.

_It was never finished because they kept having to enlarge it during her stay, _Balin thought_. Why didn't Dain say anything? He should have taken a birch switch to her behind years ago._

"Durin's beard," Balin said heavily as he took his seat. "What a tangle."

He rubbed his face with both hands and sighed. But he wasn't ready to concede their point just yet.

"Still, did you ever think that the king might actually fancy one of them?" he asked. "And what if he did and we scared her off? What then? I cannot believe that they _all _are as, erm, _unsuitable_ as Dain's, er, daughter. And what about our alliances? A stunt like this would not be forgotten in a hurry, that's certain."

Growling in frustration, Kili kicked a chair, and Fili threw up his hands.

"So we stand by and let uncle bear more of King Thror's madness?" he asked heatedly. "He's suffered enough!"

Dwalin chuckled. It was hard to tell since his shoulders shook only slightly.

"No doubt Thorin's already working out how to deal with this," he said, "but I'm with you on Princess Onkra and the others. The council deserves as much as we can dish out for this."

"Brother!" Balin exclaimed. "It isn't our place to interfere."

"It is when it concerns what's best for Erebor, Balin," Dwalin argued, "and The Oinker isn't."

"Stop _saying_ that! 'Tisn't _respectful!_"

"But it _is_ fitting," Kili spat, "and noble dwarrowdam or no, uncle doesn't deserve such a fate."

"So," Fili said, "what can we do to help him?"

Balin drummed his fingers on the table. He was definitely not happy about the state of affairs, but Princess Onkra? A cold chill ran through him as her piggish face reappeared in his memory.

"Well, _your_ notions will only bring us infamy, lads"—he paused and looked each in the eye—"so we need something a little more subtle while protecting our more worthy lasses among the wolves."

"Sows," Dwalin amended.

Fili and Kili plopped themselves down eagerly. This is what they hoped for. Without saying so, Balin and Dwalin had signed on.

"We'll need the others," Dwalin said. "There's too many to do a proper job of it."

"Aye," Balin replied while lost in thought. Dain's daughter was nothing if not persistent when she wanted something. He twitched again, remembering her screaming long and loudly for a necklace she saw on the neck of passing dwarrowdam until he thought his ears would bleed. "Princess Oinker—Onkra!—alone will be quite a challenge."

* * *

Thorin walked back and forth along the ramparts above the front gate, struggling to find his own strategy. Asking his nephews for help was a mistake. He would never be charming no matter how hard he tried, and he wasn't willing to try that hard. But he couldn't be openly hostile either, lest he offend the clans and risk conflict or even war. Hmmm. Whatever the council decreed—and may they all be struck with boils on their backsides!—he wasn't about to offer himself up on a platter to satisfy a law that should never have been written in the first place.

_I don't need a wife anyhow,_ he told himself.

After pacing for a good while with his hands behind his back, he decided to be correct and civil, but no more. He would do nothing to encourage them but instead would freeze them out with royal disapproval. After all, he only had to pick one, and whomever she was, she'd have to put up with his indifference for the rest of her life.

_Aye, that'll work. She'll know where she stands and leave me in peace after a child is conceived. I hope it doesn't take long._

* * *

Meanwhile, other members of the company agreed with a zeal that remained undiminished after Balin's stern lecture on the delicacy of dwarrowdams.

"So no bodily injury?" Nori asked. Dori rapped him on the back of the head.

"Ow, what? I'm just saying that we could arrange a few _accidents_," Nori argued. "Nothing fatal, mind."

"We don't want to hurt them," Dori replied, "just make them leave—quickly—and they couldn't do that if we broke their legs."

Balin shook his head in dismay.

"We need to somehow disqualify them all," he said. Then he frowned and pulled on his beard. "No, they need to disqualify themselves, aye, that's it. Then our honor won't be questioned."

"And just how do we get them to do that?" Kili wanted to know.

"Carefully, lad, very carefully," Balin replied thoughtfully. "This needs to be planned and deliberate, like a game of chess."

Gloin tapped the side of his nose.

"Oin could help with that," he said. He nodded at the Fili and Kili. "He's down in the apothecary. You'd better speak to him there."

Fili and Kili walked quickly down the stairs and across the Great Hall, acknowledging the bows and curtsies of their people along the way. Although they were always raised as princes, they never got special treatment at Ered Luin. Everyone was too busy there building, working, and struggling to survive to think of the niceties. A quick bob of the head did just as well and, more often than not, they were dispensed with when everyone rolled up their sleeves to pitch in. Now rank was again important, but they grumbled, knowing that it only made it harder to skulk about without getting caught.

The apothecary and sick rooms, which Oin oversaw, were separated from the rest of Erebor by three corridors: one that led to the mines, the second that opened on a lower level, and the third that had its own exit out of the mountain. Its ingenious design allowed the wounded to be brought directly to the infirmary, while those with contagious diseases could be quarantined from the main population. The dwarves had learned well over their long years that disease could spread quickly in a contained space, so they took every precaution. Unlike the rest of the mountain kingdom, the infirmary's general décor was plain and without statuary or heavy tapestries. Its simple furniture and decoration made it more sanitary and easier to clean. The entire area smelled of strong soap and bleach, but the beds were soft, and the sick well cared for.

The brothers found Oin mumbling to himself as he cleaned out and rearranged his stores. Looking up, he greeted the princes jovially, but his face turned dark when the brothers explained their mission.

"And we need to plan our strategy like a chess game," Kili said.

Oin looked unconvinced as he sorted packets of herbs.

"You want to frighten our womenfolk and cast a stain on Erebor forever?" he asked as he angled his earpiece. "I'll hear no more! Now go away, and I'll pretend this never happened!"

Kili sighed. "The Oinker is coming for Uncle Thorin."

Oin stopped. "The Oinker?"

"Princess Onkra," Fili said flatly. "You remember. The daughter of Dain?"

Oin's eyes flew open as a memory pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. _Her! _His mouth turned down as he recalled a screeching harpy who demanded treatment for every imagined ache and pain and then called him an incompetent buffoon in front of the court. He rubbed his leg where she kicked him. On rainy days it still throbbed.

"I see," he said slowly. Then he turned and grabbed a tray behind him.

"Well," he said, "I'll not help you embarrass our womenfolk, not if Erebor hung in the balance! What a notion. Outrageous! Beyond the pale! Not to be borne!" He pinned the brothers with a reprimanding scowl. Fili and Kili flushed and looked down, shifting their feet. He nodded finally, having made his point.

"Now if circumstances were different and, say, we had to repay an insult," he continued, "we could get the offending parties where they lived, so to speak. This tincture here would make them belch uncontrollably. Ha! I use it to relieve gas pains."

Fili and Kili's head jerked up.

"Tasteless and odorless," Oin said, "and they'd never know! But acting dishonorably toward these ladies who are coming so far? An unforgivable breach of honor. Never! Only three drops are needed."

He pulled out another bottle.

"And this!" he chortled. "Quite by accident I mixed two medicines together and caused a terrible, weeping rash on my hands that itched like the hair of a warg. Now I want you both to put your plan out of your minds once and for all. Do you hear me? Rub a little of this on a goblet or fork with a cloth, and a few hours later—boils!"

The brothers watched intently as Oin pulled out jar after bottle and explained their more interesting uses. Then he reached for a small, blue-glass flask.

"Oho," he said, "and this is my little beauty that I usually keep locked away. Did it ever occur to your lordships that the king may have his own plan for dealing with the situation? Let it be, I say. You'll just cause trouble. I discovered this quite by accident as well. It tastes like grapes, so it has to go in the wine. It has the effect of, erm, accentuating behavior. Have I made myself clear? The reputation of Erebor is at stake, so conduct yourself honorably, for Mahal's sake!"

Fili and Kili nodded quickly.

"How would this work—exactly?" Kili wondered with a nod toward the little bottle. Such a thing might only increase someone's greediness or determination, and that would surely make matters worse.

"Well, lad, it takes understanding your opponent," Oin said with a frown as though Kili should have known better. "Tactics, lad, tactics! It's not for everyone, of course, but if she's—he's!—fond of food, for example, this'll keep him eating until he gets sick. Catch on? Precious as gems our womenfolk are, and you treat them with all the respect they deserve! I'll not hear another word!"

"So how much…?" Fili asked, waving his hand at the bottle.

"Two drops, er, or three if they're on the hefty side," Oin answered, "but I won't have any part in it, lads, so count me out."

* * *

Finally, the dreaded day arrived. Thorin shrugged on his specially made royal tunic and surcoat and yanked at the tight collar with a curse. Then he tugged on his black boots with silver tips. He pushed back his hair with frustrated grunt and looked at himself in the mirror. His lip curled at the grim face that glared back at him. All at once, his shoulders dropped.

_Why, grandfather, why? Did you not think I'd take care of our people?_

He tried to cheer himself with Kili's words, but they faded in the face of what or rather who was coming. At least he knew Thror didn't write the law with The Oinker in mind. He died long before the princess was born.

Leaning against an oaken door carved with scenes of victory from the Battle of Five Armies, he groaned and then took a deep breath and straightened up. He shouldn't complain. Marriage for political reasons was common among all races, and many before him had done the same. Even his cousin Dain wed to secure an alliance. How else could he end up with such a daughter? Thorin dimly remembered her mother and shuddered. No wonder Dain only had one child. He tried consoling himself with the thought that some of these marriages worked out well enough, but he didn't feel any better.

Thorin looked again in the silvered glass and inhaled sharply. He didn't recognize himself. He leaned in and examined his face, seeing deeper lines, gray in his beard, and more silver in his hair. For a moment, he looked like a spectre, haunted and ghostly like a king of old risen to face his descendant.

_Must be a trick of the light. _He glanced around at the flickering lamps whose wicks needed trimming.

Then he faced his reflection.

_What do I want?_ he thought. The face in the mirror looked surprised.

_You never asked that question before. _

Thorin spoke aloud to his mirror self. "I'm asking it now. What do _I_ want?"

His reflection had no answer, and it opened its hands helplessly and then dropped them to its side. Thorin looked down at his hands, callused and hardened, and flexed his fists. Too many years of service had robbed him of himself, and he was shocked to realize he had so little life outside his duties as king. Suddenly, he felt hollow like a rotting tree and wondered how he had missed out on so much. He was always pushing, always fighting to build the lives of others, but he had never built his own. He had loyal companions and valued them greatly, but he spent little time with them now outside of official functions. Sifting through his memories, he realized that he missed the camaraderie of the quest.

Even with his nephews, whom he loved dearly, he felt set apart. They loved him, too, he was sure, but they never did anything together just for enjoyment. It was always about training or needs to be met. It took them all nearly dying to just spend time together.

Late that awful day, he woke up to the sounds of groans around him and thought that he was still on the battlefield. As his eyes cleared, he realized that he was in a tent surrounded by wounded. Looking around, he gasped when he saw the still bodies of his nephews.

"No, no!" he had cried weakly, and he tried to move, to get to them somehow. Just then, the tent flap opened, and Oin bustled in.

"No, Thorin, you can't," he said, "else you'll tear the stitches. Easy does it."

But he struggled all the more.

"Fili!" he cried, "Kili!"

Oin pushed him down by his shoulders.

"They're alive, my king," he said. "They're just unconscious."

"Truly?"

"I swear."

He stayed awake for as long as he could, waiting to see any sign of life, before his eyes closed against his will. When he woke again later, he saw Fili looking at him and Kili trying to reach out his hand. He was not ashamed to feel tears.

"My lads," he said weakly. "Mahal be praised."

Soon they were moved to a separate tent, and they talked and talked. Thorin shared stories of Dis, their father, and himself when he was younger, and he listened to their hopes and dreams. He grew even more proud of them if that were possible, but he deflected most personal questions. They made him uncomfortable and, after a while, his nephews stopped asking.

_Who am I apart from being king?_

After staring at himself and finding no answer, he growled angrily and tugged at his robes. It was too late to consider such things now even though he felt his chest aching with regret. He breathed deeply with one hand on his heart and then pulled open the door and threw his head up proudly. No one would see his unhappiness and confusion as he strode strongly down the stairs and across the hall. His people would never guess that with each step, their king bled a little inside.

_I am king. That is enough because I will it so. _

He looked up at the vaulted ceiling and the wide seams of gold and crystalline quartz winking like sunlight, and he swelled with pride, deciding to forget such nettlesome questions. His life was his mountain. He fought for it and would die to defend it. Perhaps it was enough to be remembered as the one who reclaimed the Lonely Mountain. Perhaps.

_Let those who think we live in dark caves behold the light that never dims!_

His eyes took in the glory of his kingdom, and he smiled despite his circumstances. He would always have his mountain. Its walls were polished to a high luster, and its many diamond and gold chandeliers gleamed and twinkled in the torchlight.

_Like a sky full of stars._

Calmed temporarily, Thorin slowly strode toward his throne room. The council met him outside the entrance. One fat and pompous dwarf, called Dolor, stepped forward. He bowed and then scrutinized Thorin's attire with confusion.

"You wear unusual dress to meet your bride, you highness," he said with suspicion dripping from every word. "Did someone die?"

The council murmured at the king's all-black garb. Only his high collar embroidered with silver kept it from being mourning robes. One by one they whispered their disapproval.

"Not yet," Thorin replied tightly, "but 'tis still early."

"We're only doing our duty by King Thror's command," Dolor replied firmly, "and we expect your majesty to take his command as seriously as we do."

Thorin clenched his fists, and the council shuffled back from his angry face.

"Do not _ever_ question my loyalty to my grandfather again," he said with barely controlled fury. "It is _only_ my respect for him that allows this travesty to continue."

Then he threw open the door and stomped inside to where Fili and Kili stood. Thorin arched one brow, but Fili and Kili simply nodded and took their places by his side. They also wore black with embroidered collars. Someone must have tipped them off. Well, good. Thorin appreciated their show of solidarity. Their welcome would be formal and correct but cool to any who entered. The council could hardly expect more. Then bugles sounded to announce the approach of expected guests.

Thorin sat on his throne and turned his hard gaze on the door. Council members walked in and stood in their customary aisle, and all the company except Oin walked in and took the aisle opposite. Some of the company chuckled when they saw what Thorin and the princes wore. So their liege would play the part of the black king. They grinned and whispered approvingly under the wary gaze of council members. The two sides then glared at each other until Bofur gave them a wink and jaunty smile. After a few minutes of veiled insults passing back and forth between the aisles, a herald stepped forward and announced the visitors' arrival to the main gate. The board was now set, and the players were in place. After taking a deep breath, the black king made the first move.

"Herald, do your office." Thorin said regally with a nod.

All heard the massive doors creak open.

"So the game begins," Balin muttered.

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**Please review! It's so nice to hear from readers!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I am having _such_ a good time with this story, and I hope you all are too! I must give some concept credit to my husband for this chapter. I read to him at times, and he helpsme with ideas and content tweaking. What a guy! Anyway, I'm throwing a mystery into the mix, so have fun and send me your thoughts and comments. I didn't hear from too many last time, and I'd like to hear from many more with this chapter. Let me know you're out there! And for all you mystery readers, sign up and be counted! I'd love to meet you.**

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**Chapter 4**

The great doors groaned open as though the mountain itself sympathized with its king. In all of Thorin's imagination—which wasn't considerable—he never would have dreamed that the Princess Onkra could have and would have gained the proportions she did. The rest followed behind, but almost all were obscured by the sheer size of the princess, a feat that was truly astonishing.

"Lord Dain of the Iron Hills and the Princess Onkra," the herald announced while looking slightly past them. Then he bowed low as they passed and held his hand over his mouth. Her father gripped one of her hands and a guard from the Iron Hills held the other, and they, together with three dwarfs holding out their arms in back, slowly inched the princess down the hall. A veiled lady-in-waiting carried a large basket of buns and scones.

As expected for princes of Erebor, Thorin was thoroughly educated in all matters necessary for successful rule and administration of the realm. Therefore, his schooling included history, literature, mathematics, military strategy, metallurgy, and the physical and applied sciences. He studied hard, and his royal instructors told Thrain that his son showed a particular aptitude for physics and engineering.

His quick and active mind now applied itself to the difficulty of moving Princess Onkra down the long hallway. For several minutes, he amused himself with imagining her as an automated machine and calculating the exact amount of coal needed to fuel the movement of her legs. Then he moved on to designing various contraptions including a crane with a counter balance, a conveyor belt with guardrails, and a portable chair shaped like a wheelbarrow.

As she drew closer, Thorin looked around the room and noted everyone's horrified fascination. Bofur and Bombur whispered together while Bifur made obvious gestures before his brothers slapped his hands down. Balin looked pained and Dwalin stoic. The Ri brothers stood in shock, while Gloin simply shook his head. Over his shoulder, Thorin studied his nephews' grim and determined faces, and he guessed that more was in the works than their clothing choice. Then he turned to Dolor who stood closest to him, and his lip curled at the dwarf's disgust. Contempt for the council surged through him.

"And _she_ was your choice? You wished me to bed this mountain of flesh?" he whispered harshly. "I'd not know where to begin if it were even possible."

Indeed, Princess Onkra's bulk was a study in circles and folds. Her head and face were completely round, and huge, fleshy cheeks nearly obscured her eyes, which were pushed into thin slits. Her head sat on her massive shoulders without any neck in between, and her breasts and belly joined into one, enormous bulge so that no one could tell where her chest stopped and her stomach began.

All that sat on hips that jutted out like a banquet table under which waddled bowed legs atop severely swollen ankles. Flesh hung from her arms and folded over her wrists like thick batter poured on a baker's table. Bracelets that were strained almost to the breaking point peeked out occasionally from their fleshy confinement.

She wore a purple, satin dress festooned with ruffles—not a wise fashion choice under the circumstances. The seams of the dress were pulled so tight that they zigzagged down her sides like a mountain trail. Rings squeezed out circles of fat on her sausage-link fingers, and her thin, scruffy hair was scraped up into a tiny topknot. As she passed the council and company, she inclined her head slightly to both sides as though acknowledging their awe. Finally, a full 15 minutes later, she stood with her father in front of the throne.

Thorin tapped his fingers while watching the final approach of the creeping procession. When the group stopped at the throne, the Lord of the Iron Hills turned to his cousin. He was a large, ugly dwarf with tufts of hair sticking out at all angles and a puckered scar running from his cheek to his chin.

"Greetings to the King of Erebor," he said in a rough voice. "May your reign be long and fruitful."

Thorin's lips twisted at his comment, but he said nothing and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Welcome back, Dain," he replied. "It's good to see you again."

Dain left his daughter to stand before him. The princess wobbled without his support, but another dwarf from the entourage trotted up quickly to steady her. A soft snort had Thorin looking over Dain's shoulder to find the culprit.

"Aye," he said with a cheerful smile though several teeth were missing, "I'm pleased to see you recovered, and I thank you for this invitation."

He looked up and around approvingly.

"You've restored Erebor to its former glory, and in so little time," he said. "What happened here is the talk of our people everywhere. I envy you."

Thorin snorted.

"You didn't envy me when we were imprisoned by the Mirkwood elves or when we were running for our lives from dragon fire," he said dryly.

Dain cleared his throat sheepishly.

"Aye, well, we came through at the end," he said with a wry glance at the company who acknowledged him quietly, "and helped win the day. That's what counts when all's said and done."

"True enough," Thorin replied, deciding to let it go. "Thankfully, those times are behind us."

Then Dain recovered his good humor and took his daughter's hand.

"And, of course, you remember Onkra."

Thorin looked down with a blank face. It was his best defense. He was sure that if he moved a muscle, he would laugh until he got a cramp.

"I remember," he said smoothly. "Princess Onkra, welcome to Erebor." He heard another amused snort from somewhere in the assembly but couldn't spot the guilty party. "I hope your trip was tolerable," he added for good measure.

She dipped her head slightly since there was no way she could curtsy.

"In truth, my lord, it was fairly horrid," she began in a breathy, high-pitched voice that was at odds with her size. "Traveling is so tedious, and there was no escort waiting as we approached Dale."

Thorin frowned. He knew he could have asked Lord Bard to allow soldiers on his lands to escort his guests, but frankly, he didn't want them to feel that welcome. Besides, the orcs were gone, and the weather was warm. There was no need.

"The lands of Dale are not ours to control, my lady," he said, "but …"

"Well, then, you should have taken Dale by force, so I could have safe escort, my lord," she interrupted. "Men aren't worthy neighbors in any case."

Thorin blinked, not sure he heard correctly, while the rest gasped at her interrupting the king.

"You suggest that we should have killed our neighbors and allies to give you escort?" he asked in disbelief.

"Oh, yes, your majesty," she replied through thick lips. "The overlook has such a nice view too. You could raze the city and build an outpost. It would be so pretty in the fall when the leaves turn."

He sat back, not sure how to respond, but she then turned her head and yelled over her shoulder.

"Where are my scones?" she bellowed in a much deeper and more natural tone.

The veiled attendant hurried to her side. Only then did Thorin notice crumbs sticking to her cheeks and chins. He looked lower and saw smears of jam on her straining bodice. He winced internally.

"Ah, yes, well, Onkra's had a tiring journey," Dain said hastily, "so perhaps she'd better rest awhile."

It was at that moment that Thorin had a truly evil but inspired idea. He fingered his lower lip as it took shape and then looked askance on the unsuspecting councilors and laughed softly to himself.

_This is perfect, just perfect._

Grinning smugly, he settled himself on his throne in delightful anticipation.

"But of course, cousin," he said with a glint in his eye. Then he turned and nodded at his nemesis. "I will give Dolor here, our most dedicated councilor, the honor of being your guide and helping you and your daughter with everything you need during your stay."

He smirked at the over-dressed dwarf who swelled like a toad with indignation. All his frustration and pain over the situation were forgotten as he watched Dolor's face turn an impressive shade of purple—almost the color of the princess's dress.

"Please show them to their rooms and give them every courtesy," he said in dismissal. Then he turned to Princess Onkra. "I place one of Erebor's finest at your disposal."

Dolor opened his mouth but then bit his lip and bowed stiffly.

"Of course, my lord," he said in a strangled voice. The procession left slowly with Princess Onkra listing her needs and wants while her lady-in-waiting trailed behind.

Thorin then turned to the rest of the room to see his company all grinning widely and the councilors aghast. As the rest of the nobles and their daughters were presented, Thorin assigned a councilor to the ones he found most offensive and members of the company to ones he found least objectionable, a service he was only too happy to provide.

"Did everyone arrive?" Thorin asked Balin. The doughty dwarf thought through the names of those who were announced.

"Not all, my lord," he said. "I believe a few are still traveling."

"Very well," he said. "It's already late, and it took longer than expected for everyone to be presented. I think our guests would rather have food brought to them after they rest, so we can forego a feast tonight."

Then he gave orders to have food sent to the guest wings.

Balin looked at him shrewdly.

"Not up to facing them all again so soon, are you?" he asked.

Thorin groaned. "I'll have them here all month, Balin, and I've been on display long enough. Now I want some peace. I need a drink and some fresh air. Care to join me? We can leave and head for the pub outside Dale."

Balin was surprised by his offer since he had worked tirelessly after regaining his health and never socialized anymore. Thorin saw his response and frowned. He had neglected those he once called friends, and it showed.

"I confess I miss your company," he said in a low voice. "I was so busy restoring Erebor and establishing our people that I forgot to _be_ with my people."

Balin smiled brightly, pleased to have his old friend back at last.

"I missed you too, laddie," he replied, and he clapped him on the back. "I'd be happy to join you. Dwalin would too, but he's busy taking care of one of the nicer lasses. They aren't all like, well, you know."

Thorin gritted his teeth.

"I resent being forced into this, Balin," he said firmly. "It's as much the principle of the thing as the fact. I can find my own wife. I don't need one thrust upon me."

Balin glanced at him with an unreadable expression.

"So you're saying you _want_ a wife now?" he said.

Thorin stopped walking and looked flustered. Then his neck turned red. Balin was surprised. He had never known Thorin to be anything less than decisive even when he was wrong. Something must have happened.

"What's changed?"

Thorin blinked and shook his head in confusion.

"I meant that I want to direct my own life," he said, "nothing more."

Balin nodded slowly.

"Of course," he replied while hiding a smile.

As they walked toward the main gate, Dolor ran puffing by them holding a long list. He was sweating heavily and holding one hand under his belly.

"That was inspired, if I do say so myself," Balin said with a chuckle as they turned and watched him trot down the stairs.

Thorin glanced at his old advisor.

"What do you all have up your sleeves?" he asked with a knowing smile. "I know my nephews have something planned, and I'm sure you're all in on it."

Balin closed one eye and scrunched his face as he looked up at his beloved king.

"Nothing we want traced back to you," he said slyly, "but we're all agreed to help however we can."

Thorin nodded with satisfaction.

"You have my thanks. I'll need all of you to get through this wretched affair."

After his guard was assembled, Thorin rode with Balin to Dale. After receiving word to meet them there, Dwalin joined in. The barkeeper bowed low and ushered them into a more private room. The dwarves stood and bowed to their king who took a table in the back.

Thorin felt better after hoisting a few pints and reminiscing with his friends. The regret he felt began to ease, and he even laughed once or twice at Dwalin's terrible retelling of a good joke. Then they heard a loud noise, and the door whipped open and banged against the wall leaving a dent from the knob.

All looked over, and on the threshold stood a massive and meaty dwarf with square shoulders and stocky legs. A mail shirt hung long over an equally long tunic, and a thick belt strained to hold up a heavy belly and many weapons. The dwarf's coarse, black hair was elaborately braided, and all heard the clink of hobnailed boots on the floor. The dwarf scanned the room with a stern, hard face.

"Be any of ye here King Thorin of Erebor?" came a loud voice. Guards circled Thorin at once, and the dwarf nodded decisively and strode toward him. Wump! Wump! Wump! The dwarf crossed the room and, with one swipe of a hairy paw, knocked a guard off his feet. Dwalin and the rest stepped in front, but Thorin called them back.

"What business do you have with me?" he asked, still sitting calmly.

The dwarf stopped in front of him and folded burly forearms.

"I be of the Broadbeam clan and been heading to Erebor when word came that ye be here."

Thorin looked over his shoulder, and Balin whispered "Lady Fregma's retinue."

After all the events of the day, the last thing Thorin wanted was to deal with more nobles and their unwanted daughters. Dwalin rolled his eyes at the interruption, and Balin sighed, but Thorin grew angry. This was the first time since his recovery that he spent time at leisure, and he was annoyed at this dwarf for barging in against protocol.

"Who are you then?" he asked sarcastically, not caring if he offended. "Her loyal guard coming to sing her praises? Durin's beard! I've had enough of these homely heifers to last a lifetime!"

The dwarf simply stood there staring at him with eyes like little, gray pebbles.

"Well then?" Thorin challenged after a silent stand-off. "Where is this Lady Fregma that I should meet her?"

The dwarf snorted and rubbed a dirty forefinger under a bulbous nose.

"The homely heifer stands before ye."

The other dwarves looked all around them, but Thorin stared into the face before him and nodded. He stood slowly, but she pushed him back in his seat and looked him over. Her hard gaze traveled over the narrow planes of his face; the long, silvered hair; his noble brow; thin, angular nose; and full lower lip above a neatly trimmed beard.

"Aye," she said, "ye have the bearing of yer kin, but ye be too dainty fer me taste."

Then Lady Fregma swung around and pulled Dwalin flush against her. Holding tightly to his cloak under his chin with a huge fist, she smacked her lips and winked at him.

"Aye, but this one be a rough rock to rub against," she said. "Be ye ready to clasp herself to yer breast as wife or be ye taken?"

Dwalin eyes opened wider than Thorin had ever seen them, and no one spoke. Then Balin put his hands over his face and chuckled merrily. Thorin's eyebrows puckered at the sight, and even Lady Fregma and Dwalin looked over. At that, Balin laughed harder until he slumped against the table.

"My lady," Dwalin coughed out. "I'm not available—ah, my regrets."

"'Tis a pity," she said, letting go of him. Then she whacked her forehead against his and nodded as he fell back against the wall. "Aye, yourn makes a goodly smack. Hard to find, that."

Dwalin rubbed his forehead and stared at the dwarrowdam leaning over him. He felt like he hit a granite block, and his ears buzzed. Balin alternated between coughing and laughing before he wiped his eyes and blew his nose with a loud honk.

"Me lord," she said, bowing to Thorin, "I'll leave ye to drink yourn in all honor. The Broadbeams will not hold ye to blame fer this. Ye be a pretty one, 'tis certain, but not fer herself."

She then shouldered her way through the crowd and slammed the door behind her. No one spoke. All looked frozen in time with some holding their mugs in the air and other half-crouched as if either getting up or sitting down.

"She called me dainty," Thorin muttered in disbelief.

Then the room exploded into gusty gales of laughter, leaving the king looking disgruntled with his hands on his hips.

Later that evening, Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin passed Dolor huffing down the hall to the kitchens and various veiled ladies-in-waiting from the different clans bustling to and fro. The three stopped and watched the steady stream of attendants and servants entering and exiting rooms and halls all over Erebor. It was like a hive of worker bees but all serving different queens.

"Hammer and stone," Dwalin said, looking around him, "I didn't expect this."

Thorin rubbed his head. "I'm going to the library. I need something to calm my mind."

"What are you going for?" Balin asked. "No, let me guess." He tapped a finger against his lips. "Hmmm, your mother's Book of Reflections?"

Thorin inclined his head. "You know me too well."

The crown princess, before her untimely death, wrote a book to her children containing all her thoughts on motherhood, stories about them when they were dwarflings, and poems about her love for her family and life at Erebor. Thankfully, the library was untouched by Smaug who had no use for books, and Thorin shed a few private tears on finding the well-loved book.

Handwritten in a lovely, rolling script, the words were as thoughtful and serene as his mother, and he often heard her voice as he read. The book became a touchstone for him when he was troubled, and although he wanted to keep it in his chambers always, he knew that others drew strength from it as well and so kept it in the library. Holding a lamp, he walked there alone. The old librarian, who wore spectacles on the end of his nose, bowed to him as he came in and shuffled away. Thorin walked to the family archive and pulled the gilt book from a middle shelf.

On reaching his chambers, Thorin closed the door and blew out a long-held breath. The day was as hideous as he expected, and all he wanted now was to settle in with a glass of red wine and the comfort of his mother's thoughts.

Pulling at the neck of his tunic, he loosened the laces, tugged off his robes, and toed off his boots, leaving everything in a pile at the foot of his bed. Then he sat in his favorite chair and pulled his lamp closer to read, but as he opened the book, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Surprised, he reached down and picked it up between two fingers and unfolded it against the book.

A sweet, flowery scent floated up to his nose. Something from his mother? But the scent smelled as fresh as spring air. Inhaling contentedly, he began to read.

_Your Majesty,_

_I thank you for the opportunity to see Erebor at last, as it has been much talked of among my people, and I'm delighted to see that descriptions of its beauty and grace were not at all exaggerated…._

Thorin snorted in disgust. What a disappointment. So the note was a sneaky attempt to get his attention. He shook his head, thinking it was no doubt written by some ambitious climber with delusions of being queen. Snatching it up, he crumpled it in his broad palm, intending to fling it into the fire, but then he stopped. He should first find out who wrote it, so he could take proper measures.

_When I find out who misused mother's book, I'll dismiss them from Erebor as soon as the sun rises._

He opened it again and smoothed it out. The handwriting was firm and angular, signifying a confident hand.

_Confident perhaps but scheming and untrustworthy, _he thought.

_I thank you also for your hospitality. The courtesy of your hall could hang icicles off your imposing statuary or freeze the arses off an orc pack. I respectfully remind Your Highness—in case you were too taken up in making arrangements for our discomfort—that you invited us here. Knowing as I must of royal protocol and the proper procedure for receiving noble guests, I must conclude that my Lord was taken ill and is perhaps in pain, which would account for your almost constant sneer throughout the evening. Therefore, I hope sincerely that Your Majesty will recover soon from this rare and dreadful illness that has temporarily robbed you of your manners._

_Your Justifiably Concerned Servant,_

Thorin sat there stunned. He quickly looked lower for a signature, but all he saw was a finely executed drawing of a small sprig of flowers. He sat up and held the note out at a distance and turned it over to examine it as though it might contain something dangerous. Then he read it again and, as he did, his initial shock turned to fury.

"What insolence!" he roared. "How _dare_ she insult me in my own home!"

Then he thought of how she could have known that he was going to the library and what book he would choose. He spoke to no one except those standing with him. Then he remembered all the servants walking the halls. One could have easily overheard him and reported back to her mistress.

_Spies! She has someone trailing me. What nerve! I'll not stand for this!_

Thorin jumped out of his chair and paced and planned his retaliation until the fire turned to embers. Finally, he went to bed, but instead of sleeping, he tossed and turned until he flung his pillows on the floor and got up.

_I'll choke her on her own medicine,_ he thought meanly, and he walked over to his writing desk and penned his own note, smirking occasionally as he wrote in his usual flowing script. Then he threw on his robes, went back to the library, and put the book back on the shelf with the note inside.

"Let's see what she makes of this!" he muttered to himself. He had thrown down a challenge, and the next day would reveal if it had been accepted. He walked back to his chambers with a satisfied swagger and disrobed once more. Punching his pillows and arranging his blankets, he settled down to sleep. It was lost on him, however, that for the first time in months, he was looking forward to tomorrow.

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**Thorin is in for a ride.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Ugh, the computer ate my chapter, so I had to rewrite it from what I remembered. I really wanted to get it done cuz I have two other stories I've been neglecting and school starts next week. But I hope you enjoy. LilyRosetheDreamer and almaloun really liked Lady Fregma, so I have answered your wishes and provided a slight detour from the plot line to spend a little more time with her. I must say she's a hoot. Poor Dwalin!**

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**Chapter 5**

The next morning, the different players started the day with widely ranging expectations and in various moods. Dwalin and Balin were calm and reasonable, mapping out the strategies they had devised with the others on a large, oaken table in the War Room. Fili and Kili, on the other hand, nearly vibrated with energy like eager puppies who were told to sit still while tasty treats dangled above their heads. Bombur bustled in the kitchen, preparing to feed and perhaps slightly poison some of the guests, while his brothers listed which dwarrowdams should be the first to get the steel-tipped boot. Harried councilors—who got little sleep last night—ran even more requests and lists of needs to the merchants, seamstresses, perfumers, and others, so that the prospective brides looked and smelled their best to face the king. Etiquette was important. Every noble dwarrowdam was schooled in how to meet and interact with royalty, and to do anything embarrassing was to bring shame on the family. It was a rule that Thorin's defenders hoped to exploit.

Thorin, himself, awoke remarkably refreshed. He had vented last night like a volcano that was overdue for an eruption. Pouring out his rage out with sharp, strong strokes of the quill, he nearly cut through the paper, but sparing nothing in response to the mysterious dwarrowdam felt strangely freeing. Of course, that he may have overwhelmed her with his snide reply did not bother him at all—quite the contrary.

_She will feel the ire of a king!_ he thought, feeling justified for his angry and bitter words. He ran them again in his mind, punctuating his better phrases silently with a jab of his forefinger. Then he wondered if she had already read his note. Curious, he dressed quickly and went to the library. A very, old dwarf with a quill stuck behind his ear and his nose almost touching the pages of a book sat at the front desk. When he saw the king, he pushed back his chair with a scrape and bowed reverently.

"May I get you something, your highness?" he asked.

Thorin brushed him aside with a shake of his head and flick of his hand.

"Did anyone come in here last night?" he asked. He felt almost eager to find out, his blue eyes wide and flitting from side to side as if expecting someone to pop out of the stacks and take credit for being the mystery writer.

The dwarf looked around, mirroring the king's movements, and then down at the record log.

"It appears not, my lord," he replied, "but I wasn't on duty all night. We do lock up until morning."

"Ah."

Somewhat deflated, Thorin decided to look anyway, and he strode toward the bookshelf. His note was missing, and he smirked.

_She must have read it by now,_ he thought with mean satisfaction. He felt blood rush through his body. His small revenge energized him. Stroking the cover of the book, he pushed it back in the stacks and put his hands together under his nose to think. Then he frowned.

_What if she doesn't reply?_

He wondered if he even wanted a reply but then shook it off. She would read the note, see how wrong she was, and either apologize or hang her head in shame.

_I'll know when I see them all at breakfast._ _She'll be the one who's distraught—and rightly so._

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All the noble dwarrowdams assembled at the doors to the royal dining hall like pawns and waited to file in at the king's command. This time, they would see him without their fathers, uncles, or brothers. Only their ladies-in-waiting were allowed in to attend to their needs. Princess Onkra stood at the very back, wishing to make a grand entrance after all had already sat down at the table and started eating. She could hardly do anything else since it would take her that long to get there.

"What is that you are wearing, Mern, daughter of Modral?" asked Talar, daughter of Torpor of the Iron Hills, as she strutted around the obviously anxious dwarrowdam. "I believe that style was in fashion not long after Durin awoke."

She and a few others tittered at her discomfort and pretended to hide their smirks behind their hands. Lady Mern looked down shame-faced, picking at her huge princess sleeves, the tops of which came almost up to her ears. She hugged herself and looked away, her small, round eyes filling with tears.

"You should know since you were there," came a low, husky voice that was clearly heard nonetheless. Everyone inhaled in surprise and then the hall echoed with laughter. However, Lady Talar was furious and pushed forward through the crowd.

"Who said that?" she shrieked, looking around with her ham-fisted hands on her wide hips.

"Besides, everyone knows that Talar is a troll in a skirt," said the disembodied voice.

Mern giggled shyly and wiped her eyes, but Talar stomped over with her heels clacking on the stone floor. Unfortunately, she did look something like a troll with her large, flat face and bulging, pale eyes.

"How dare you say such a thing to me!" she yelled, standing before Lady Bruffa of the Grey Mountains.

"I said no such thing," she sniffed, looking down her nose, "although I believe whomever said that spoke the truth."

Before Talar could respond, the heavy doors swung open, and the dwarrowdams smoothed their skirts and adjusted their hair as they were ushered inside. Just before Lady Mern entered, someone slipped a note into her hand. Surprised, she turned around but saw no one but Princess Onkra lumbering behind her. High above, on a hidden balcony, Fili turned to his brother.

"Lady Mern is too sweet for what we have in mind," he said almost regretfully. "I just couldn't do it to the lass, but are you ready for Lady Talar and those others?"

Kili held up a bottle. The different clans brought bribes, or rather gifts, in thanks of Thorin's invitation, and Lord Torpor brought a case of fermented cider that was flavored with rare and exotic spices. Bombur decided to serve it at breakfast.

"We're all set."

The contenders all stood by their chairs and curtsied as the king walked in his nephews, Balin, Dwalin, and the council. Thorin's eyes narrowed as he stared at each face, looking for the mystery writer. Then he saw Lady Mern's red-rimmed eyes and nodded decisively. The little thing didn't seem capable of the clever word-play of the note, but a childlike and innocent appearance could very well hide a sharp tongue. Somewhere in the back of his mind though, he was disappointed in Lady Mern's timid appearance.

She looked up, saw Thorin glaring at her, and burst into sobs. He kept his eyes on her until Fili walked up and whispered something in his ear. Surprised, he pulled his nephew closer and asked a few questions. Fili shook his head, answered back, and then Thorin nodded.

_It's not her. By Durin then, who is it?_

He looked over at Lady Mern again and nodded after he caught her eye. She stopped with a hiccup and snatched up a few napkins to dab her face. Then she felt the crumpled note in her hand and opened it hastily.

_Help is here._

She gasped. Surely no one could know what her father tried so hard to hide. She looked lower and saw a small sprig of flowers as the signature. Lifting her head, she looked up one side of the table while Thorin looked down the other, both trying to find the elusive writer. Some of the contenders noticed his focused gaze and found an excuse to bend over the table and flaunt their assets while others smiled coyly. Others looked surprisingly distracted or disinterested, but he knew it was only a ploy. He stroked his beard. She _had_ to be somewhere among them.

"Uncle?" Kili asked after Thorin stood there staring into each face and grunting in displeasure. Then he bid them sit, and servers handed out mugs of the cider. Then they returned with platters of meats and eggs dishes, cut fruit, and baskets of buns and rolls. The dwarrowdams sat, and some politely talked to each other while others politely traded insults. Princess Onkra finally approached the table with her helpers and stood to next to Thorin's chair. Lady Wogren was sitting to his right and quizzing Fili on the king's preferences and what he wanted in a wife while he edged away, very uncomfortable by her pointed questions.

"Ahem," Princess Onkra began in her breathy falsetto voice, "I believe you're sitting in my chair."

Lady Wogren paid no mind but only scooted her chair in and leaned toward Fili who leaned away.

Trumpeting like an oliphaunt, Princess Onkra yelled, "I SAID, YOU'RE SITTING IN _MY _CHAIR!"

Balin stuck his pinky finger in his ear and wiggled it around while Kili slapped at his with the heel of his hand. Thorin finally turned to face her. He was seriously tempted to throw her, or rather roll her, out the door, but he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. A morning with her was more than enough, and now he had to endure a month. At least he knew he could easily escape since she certainly couldn't chase him down.

"We placed you at the foot of the table," he said shortly. There was much more he wanted to say, but he remembered his cousin. "We thought you'd be more comfortable," he added quickly after she opened her mouth. He motioned toward three servants struggling to drag a huge and nearly indestructible chair toward the end of the table.

"Ahhh, thank you, you majesty," she purred while batting her sparse lashes, "you are _ever_ too kind." Then she snailed down the length of the long table to her chair. Thorin dismissed her from his mind and rubbed his moustache impatiently. He was determined to find the mystery writer. Who was she? No one here seemed capable of writing what she did. He itched to slip out and head to the library again. Meanwhile, Princess Onkra had finally seated her bulk and arranged her folds when the door opened again.

Wump! Wump! Wump! Thorin looked up confused. What was she doing here? Balin looked amused and Dwalin horrified.

Lady Fregma strode toward the table when she saw a familiar face. Princess Faltha of Mount Dolmed rose quickly to greet her burly friend. Gently butting heads, the two gripped each other's forearms. Princess Faltha was just stocky but on a smaller scale.

"Falth! It be good to see ye again!" Lady Fregma said with obvious fondness. "Herself missed yer noggin, but why didn't ye come to the keep? We awaited ye."

Princess Faltha sighed.

"I missed you too, Freg," she said, "but father needed my help after that sickness swept our lands."

Lady Fregma nodded soberly.

"Aye, and herself grieves fer yourn that died, Falth. "'Twill not sunder us, but herself worried for ye."

"I know. You're a good friend, Freg."

Then Lady Fregma looked around.

"But, Falth, why be ye here? What be betwixt…?"

Her friend stopped her mouth.

"Father has different plans for me, and I know my duty."

Then Lady Fregma scowled and growled in a low voice, "Yourn be a cur who'd trade his own fer gold. Herself'll not stand fer this, Falth! Yourn will face herself, to be sure!"

Then the pair looked up to see that they had become the focus of unwanted attention. Princess Faltha quickly dropped in her seat, but Lady Fregma strode confidently toward Thorin until another caught her eye. She smiled widely, showing a large gap in her teeth, but she looked very glad to see him. He didn't return the compliment. Balin's eyes twinkled at his brother's effort to hide himself among the dwarrowdams.

"Where be yourn?" she asked Dwalin as she sized up the others.

He shrugged helplessly and kicked his brother under the table.

"Ah, well, uh," Balin began, "when Dwalin said he wasn't available, he meant that, well, that…."

"He meant that he serves in the king's royal guard," said Fili coming to the rescue, "and so he doesn't have the time for, uh, wife and family."

Lady Fregma looked skeptical while Balin rolled his eyes. Dwalin glowered at Fili who gestured that he did the best he could under the circumstances.

"Not like you did any better," he muttered.

She frowned and turned to Thorin.

"By yourn, me lord, how long be his service?"

Dwalin hunkered down. "For the rest of my life if I'm lucky," he muttered.

"At least 20 years," Thorin replied calmly. "The duties of protecting the royal family are not entrusted to just anyone, and Dwalin is new to the post."

If Thorin thought he dissuaded her, he was wrong.

"'Tis no matter," she said while patting the top of Dwalin's head. "Herself be young, and himself be worth the waiting."

Then she drew herself up and bowed to Thorin, who nodded formally.

"I thank ye, me lord, fer allowing herself to restock," she said, inclining her head toward Balin. Dwalin turned to his brother with a fierce glare, but he simply shrugged one shoulder and grinned. "By yourn, mebbe herself be asking to stay longer, seeing that me friend, Falth, be here, and herself be taking a fancy to one o'yourn."

Dwalin slid down in his chair, but she yanked him up by his ear to make her point. Thorin looked most amused. It wasn't every day he saw his fierce captain of the guard treated like a naughty dwarfling by an even fiercer dwarrowdam.

Dwalin stared unblinkingly at Thorin while Balin cupped his hand against the side of his face and turned away. His shoulders shook slightly. Fili and Kili looked on with wide eyes, and both put their fists to their mouths and pinched their lips together.

"You may stay as long as you like, Lady Fregma," Thorin said with a completely blank face. She gripped the top of Dwalin's bald head in one, huge palm and gave it a shake in response while he cringed. Balin's shoulders shook harder. "However, I believe your father may have something to say about this."

Dwalin held his hands over his scalp, but she easily pried them off and slapped her fleshy hand on his head, bobbling it absent-mindedly while she thought.

"Aye, me da speaks fer herself, to be sure," she replied. Then she stroked Dwalin's head with surprising gentleness. Looking down at him, she sighed.

"'Tis a tug o'me heart," she admitted. Then she brightened. "Mebbe, me lord could invite da here? Then himself could meet yourn." She looked hopeful and turned back to Princess Faltha, who nodded smiling.

"I will send an invitation without delay," Thorin said smoothly, knowing full well that Lord Freggin rarely if ever left his stronghold except in times of war. He was a wild dwarf covered in battle scars who had an unheard-of six sons and six daughters. They all looked alike so he called his sons Fregmar and his daughters Fregma. To tell them apart, the sons wore red, and the daughters wore green. In truth, Thorin had no idea which Lady Fregma he was talking to, but he supposed it didn't matter much. "But perhaps you had better deliver it yourself, since you hold more sway over your father than I."

Lady Fregma's pebble eyes gleamed, and she grabbed Dwalin's head again and tipped it back to look at him. Dwalin saw her big, square face loom over his.

"Me da will na gainsay herself, me rough rock, so ready yourn," she said happily. Then she squeezed and slapped his cheeks affectionately. Red marks began showing almost immediately.

"By yourn, me lord," she said again turning to Thorin. He nodded, and she strode out the door without looking back.

Dwalin hung his head in his hands while the rest of the table giggled and chattered about what they saw.

"Well, that wasn't exactly what we had planned for breakfast, but it was interesting, to say the least," Fili said.

"The very least," Dwalin replied, looking like a dwarf under a death sentence. He tipped up his mug of fermented cider and then guzzled the mugs to his right and left. The dwarrowdams sitting there were too deep in conversation to notice.

"Fear not, my friend," Thorin said. "She won't be coming back. Lord Freggin never leaves his keep for anything but war, and it's a long way to travel."

"Getting back to the business at hand," Kili whispered to his brother, "when will the tincture take effect?"

"Any time now," Fili replied. "Oin said that it depends on the dwarrowdam and how much she drank."

Kili rubbed his forehead. The best laid plans ...

"Well, this is _definitely_ going to be something to see since Dwalin drank two full mugs."

A few minutes later, Lady Talar leaned over from further down the table and addressed Thorin.

"My lord," she began in a seductive tone, "I just want to thank you for this opportunity to visit Erebor. Your kingdom is so—BRRRRROOOOOMMMMP!"

Her belch was both loud and foul-smelling, and she clapped her hands over her nose and chin. Another lady opened her mouth to laugh. UUUURRRRP! Then another from further down. BRRRAAAAAT! Then another. TWEEEEERRRRRRP!

"Did you give any to Princess Onkra?" Fili asked. Kili nodded.

"I gave her the most."

The brothers looked down the table. Princess Onkra stopped eating and put her hand over her mouth after shuddering slightly. All her folds shook as if someone had jiggled her chair. She put her hand to her mouth again. Out came a dainty "hic." Then she resumed eating and stuffed a whole meat pie in her mouth.

"You've _got_ to be joking!" Fili cried before Kili motioned for him to pipe down.

Lady Talar turned bright red, and Thorin looked around in confusion.

"My lord," she started, "I think—WWAAARRRP!—I had better—WAAAAAAP!—leave at once!"

A smell like rotten eggs and fermenting garbage filled the room.

"What's the meaning of this?" a councilor asked. BUUUUURRP!

Thorin stared at the scene before him and waved his hand as the smell wafted under his nose.

Dwalin started laughing—WOOOOOOOOP! He looked over in shock, and Fili led his gaze to the mugs in front of him.

Catching on quickly, he stood and bowed to Thorin.

"I'd best fetch Oin and the healers, my lord—HAAAAAAWWWWP!"

He ran out of the room. All heard another rafter-rattling belch in the corridor.

Shooting a knowing look at his nephews, Thorin held up his hands.

"Perhaps we'd better adjourn for now."

* * *

Later that day, Thorin sat quietly at his desk while Lord Torpor, sweating and wringing his hands, stood before him.

"I don't understand, Your Highness, I simply don't understand!" he said. "That cider's never upset anyone's stomach like that before. In fact, Talar drinks it often."

Thorin simply smiled.

"No harm done, Lord Torpor," he said easily, "Master Oin said that everyone will be set to rights in several days and that it should cause no extra trouble as you travel home. Perhaps it was the movement in the barrels while traveling that made the cider extra potent for some, but in any case, no harm done."

Lord Torpor bowed and scraped, simply relieved to escape without injury, while elsewhere, other families readied to leave after knowing their chances were gone. Dwalin hid in the infirmary along with a number of councilors, and Lady Fregma and Princess Faltha said their farewells. Thorin, after making sure no one was in the hallway, headed quickly to the library. Meanwhile, Fili and Kili checked four dwarrowdams off their list. Four pawns off the board.

"Not bad for one day, brother," Fili said, "and the game continues."

* * *

**Hope you had fun. Next up is something a little more serious and thought-provoking as the mystery writer answers back. Please review and send ideas!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Many thanks for your reviews and for those who signed up for this story! I tried to write back to some of you, but you don't have PM capability it seems, so thank you, thank you, and if you sign up to receive emails, let me know, so I can meet you personally! To dearreader, I had to laugh at your reference in your review to the Scarlet Pimpernel. It is one of my favorite stories, but the similarity here was completely coincidental—or was it? Might be a case of unconscious usage, but I'm having fun with it nonetheless!**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Lady Mern stood on a balcony, facing out at the lushly green valley beyond low hills of the mountain. She felt again in her pocket for the crumpled note. How could someone know her secret? But evidently someone did. She shivered in the still-warm afternoon air, the slight breeze ruffling her fluffy, blond curls. What could the writer do? What _would_ the writer do? If she was found out, all would be lost. She was her family's last hope, and she couldn't fail them, or else they would lose everything—something that her father threatened her with time and again. She had no choices of her own in this game, but she had the most important part to play. Smoothing down her light pink, satin gown, she pinched cheeks and lifted her chin. She knew that she was pretty enough and had a voluptuous figure that should earn her at least one admiring glance from the king if she played the game correctly. Her tutors were thorough and coached her well on how to attract a dwarf by any means necessary. She couldn't fail. She _would_ not fail. Putting a smile firmly in place, she wiped traces of her tears from her face and prepared for her turn with the king.

Nothing! Thorin rapidly thumbed through all the pages and then shook the book rather roughly by the cover. Nothing at all. Then he remembered what book he was handling and quickly smoothed the pages. A wave of disappointment swept through him, but he didn't delve too deeply to figure out why. That he didn't like mysteries was enough. They made him suspicious. Even as a beardling, he never liked suspense, preferring instead to figure out the answer to any riddle or story as quickly as possible. He turned to see Lupor standing there, his round spectacles perched on his long, thin nose. Another nosy councilor was too easy a pun.

_Perhaps a vulture with a long beak, eager to feast on my flesh, _he thought irritably.

"My lord," the barrel-chested councilor said in a wheedling, nasal tone since the spectacles pinched terribly, "we've worked out a rotation for you to meet with our noble dwarrowdams. It's only fair that they receive equal time with you."

Thorin stared at him unwaveringly.

"Uh, as well as giving the council the opportunity to consider the political advantages each brings to Erebor."

The king arched one brow and did not move. Lupor tried to match his imperial glare but failed.

"It's still _my_ choice," Thorin rumbled angrily as he thrust his chest out, "and I'll make my choice according to the one I _least_ despise, not according to what wealth or connections she brings to Erebor. We already have plenty of both."

Lupor wrinkled his nose, and his spectacles popped off with a _poing._ He stepped back as though he had smelled one of Dwalin's putrid burps.

"But my lord must surely understand that strategic alliances must be crucial to your choice!"

He held out a timetable and waved it when Thorin didn't move to take it.

Instead, the beleaguered king replaced his mother's book with studied care. Then he turned and callously ground the spectacles under his heel. Smiling wolfishly at the sound of their crunch, he grabbed the sheet of parchment and stalked away without another word, only to stop short at the sight of librarians and other dwarves scurrying to remove furniture and push tables back.

"What's going on here?" he asked as he looked around him. They appeared to be getting ready for a disaster. Rare volumes and other valuable artifacts were being packed away hastily and rolled on carts into storerooms.

"Quickly!" one dwarf said to another who held numerous scrolls in his arms. "She's almost here!"

Thorin looked on in amazement until Princess Onkra appeared at the door.

"Has she been here before?" he asked as a horrible thought took shape in his mind.

"Aye, my king," said one dwarf as he ran by with his arms load with first editions. "She came by yesterday."

He ran his hand over his mouth. It couldn't be. It just couldn't, but he had to know.

"What did she want?" he demanded.

The dwarf looked surprised and looked at the other dwarves who all shrugged.

"She came to look at the books, but"—he lowered his voice—"she didn't fit in the stacks, so after we cleaned up the mess she made, we brought out books to her."

Thorin ran his hands through his hair and winced as her false, feathery voice reached his ears.

"Surely, you have some romance novels," she whined coquettishly.

"Did she asked for anything specific?" Thorin asked quickly. "Did you show her anything? Anything from the family archive?"

The dwarves eyed each other again, and all shook their heads.

"She didn't check anything out, my lord," one said finally, "and we don't keep records of those who come in but don't borrow books. I don't recall anything from the family archive though."

Thorin exhaled and bit his lip. He refused to look her way. She was not the mystery writer. He wouldn't believe it no matter what evidence was presented. He didn't think why it mattered.

"I want to know if any of the noble dwarrowdams come in or if any servant requests anything from the family archive. I want to know immediately! Do you understand?"

He fixed a piercing stare at each in turn, and all nodded quickly.

"Aye, my lord," they replied in unison.

He turned and left. Stopping in the hallway to glance at the list, he saw he was to meet Lady Mern on the upper balcony. Feeling like a pawn himself instead of the king, he stomped up the stairs and saw the pretty, young dwarrowdam leaning on her elbows as she looked at the hills beyond.

"I'm told I must meet with you now," he said sullenly. She turned around with a gasp, and he suddenly felt a pang of remorse for being so rude. He frowned. "I meant to say that I see you're enjoying our view to the valley below."

He stepped beside her and gestured at the farthest rising hill.

"We can see 50 miles off on a clear day," he said confidently. "More than enough distance to spot an approaching army."

Lady Mern put on a brave face and turned to him smiling. "I see you think in military terms," she said teasingly. Her smile faltered at his suddenly closed face. "But after what you and your people have been through so recently, I can well understand why."

He nodded and looked out again in the distance, his face suddenly like one of the large, stern statues guarding the entrance of Erebor. She took an opportunity to look at him unobserved. Her tutors were truthful in saying the he was very handsome and appealing in a darkly tragic way, but she couldn't imagine living with such a gloomy dwarf. Still, she had to try.

"So," she began, "so, I see that you have large coal deposits nearby. How fortunate for your smelting operations. Is it anthracite or bituminous coal?"

Thorin looked askance and really noticed her for the first time. He wasn't expecting any conversation worth replying to, but she surprised him with her question.

_No doubt drilled into her scheming head, but interesting nonetheless._

"We use a combination of coals to reach the desired temperature for iron ore. Anthracite burns the longest and the hottest, but it's hard to light, so we mix it with softer coals."

She nodded.

"I see," she replied, "that explains the better quality of your steel, my lord. I noticed that during our quick tour of the armory after, uh, breakfast."

_Appealing to me through my interests. Clever, I suppose, but obvious._

Then she leaned forward slightly, giving him a good look at her full cleavage. Mixing brains with bosoms was always enticing, she was told. He stared pointedly at her chest while she arched her back a little and then looked away, feigning ignorance.

"Is that what they told you to do next?" he asked flatly. She looked up quickly, dropping her pert look. His eyes weren't filled with desire. He didn't move closer and put his hand on her shoulder or neck and run his fingers under her hair. In fact, he didn't move at all. Instead, his cold, blue eyes pinned her in place. She felt far more exposed than she had intended.

"My, my lord?" she stammered. This wasn't what she expected, and she didn't know what to do next. Her tutors said that King Thorin was clever, but they also said all dwarrow were attracted to a ripe figure. One look at her offered charms should have been enough to catch his eye, but the contempt on his face told her something else. Her tutors had miscalculated. He wasn't merely clever, but instead was sharply intelligent, discerning, and completely disgusted by feminine wiles. She had made her move against the black king and lost. She looked away, and her chin trembled while she tried to protect what was left of her dignity. Wrapping her arms over her chest, she hugged herself.

Just then Dolor trotted by with Princess Onkra's entourage keeping pace behind him. Lady Mern turned quickly to hide her humiliation and took a deep breath. Then she dropped her arms, threw back her shoulders, and addressed the king.

"I apologize for listening to my handlers, my lord," she said. "If I could start anew with you, I think you'd find…."

"I'd be just as disinterested, my lady," he finished bluntly. The two held each other's eyes until hers dropped, and she ran sobbing down the stairs. Thorin grumbled angrily and then stooped to pick up a crumpled piece of paper on the floor.

_Help is here._

He gasped when he saw the flower below. Help? What help? Not for him but for Lady Mern. What help did she need? All at once, Thorin felt that too many players were on the board. He looked at his list. He needed to meet with only three more candidates before the feast, and then his time was his own.

For the next several hours, Thorin pretended to listen to tedious accounts of the ladies' journeys and the latest gossip about the various clans. He hated small talk, but he nodded at all the right times and places just so he wouldn't have to say anything. Then the dwarrowdams retired for their beauty naps before assembling for the feast. There were more empty places at the table, but Lady Wogren quickly grabbed the seat next to Kili and proceeded to grill him on the king's habits. Thorin stalked in 20 minutes after the others, and all stood before he waved for them to sit and eat. He picked at his food, briefly wondering if more culinary disasters were afoot, but Balin shook his head slightly at his silent question, so he settled in and ate as much as he could for one who had a sour stomach.

The dwarrowdams preened and gossiped about those who had already left, and they laughed at Lady Talar's embarrassment. Their voices oozed sweetness and false concern, but their comments were biting.

"I heard that she left wearing a hooded cloak so no one could see her face," Lady Kern said to Princess Faltha who merely nodded and looked down the table, "and that's an improvement!"

"Where is Lady Mern?" the princess asked suddenly. Another dwarrowdam snickered from further down the table.

"I believe she's packing, since I heard that she displeased the king," she replied in a carrying whisper.

"No!" butted in Lady Bruffa, pretending to care. "Well, I'm not surprised. Did you see her gown? The poor dear's chest was practically bursting out of it. How vulgar! What did she mean to do? Seduce him in the hallway?"

Fili and Kili rolled their eyes at the conversation, and Thorin pushed his plate away as his eyes drifted to the doorway. Shifting in his seat, he tapped his fingers restlessly, trying to find some excuse to head back to the library. Then he remembered he didn't need one. He clapped his hands twice and all stopped eating.

"I just remembered some important business that I must attend to without delay," he said while rising to his feet. "I will return shortly, so please continue."

His nephews looked up surprised, and the few council members conferred together.

"What could be so pressing, my king, that would take you away from our noble dwarrowdams?" asked Dolor with a resentful edge to his voice. He had finally sat down to eat, and already Princess Onkra's lady-in-waiting had slipped another list in his hand.

Thorin merely inclined his head and pressed his lips together.

"Business of the realm," he answered cryptically and left without another word.

"What was that about?" Fili asked in a low voice. Kili shrugged.

"Maybe he has his own plan."

Thorin strode purposefully into the library and held up his hand to stop the attendant from addressing him. With each step he grew more eager to see if the mystery writer had responded. His words had scorched the pages, and he wanted to read her response.

_Let's see if she has a taste for it!_

The thought that she may not have answered at all didn't cross his mind. Almost trotting now to the back of the white, marble library, he pushed open the rosewood gate carved with the Durin crest that allowed entrance past the low partition wall that separated the rare books and Durin family archive from the rest of the collection.

The gate opened with a creak. Moving quickly, he saw that his mother's book stuck out slightly from the others, and a satisfied smile tugged at his lips. He opened the cover and pulled out several sheets of paper. Inhaling deeply of the same floral scent, he found an overstuffed, leather chair in a back corner and sat down to read with an unexpected thrill of anticipation.

_My Lord,_

_I meant no offense to your mother, Queen Relia, when I left my note in her book. She was all that was lovely and gracious, and I would never purposely insult or sully her memory. For your pain on my part, I sincerely apologize._

Thorin snorted smugly. He settled in, expecting to enjoy her groveling.

_Indeed, I owe her my life._

He reread the line and sat up, suddenly attentive to every word.

_Long ago, she met my mother down by a stream after she decided to take a walk while the lords conferred on trade relations. My mother at that time was very sad and despaired even of life. Pregnant with me, she thought that perhaps death was preferable to the pain she was feeling and had filled her pockets with rocks and was heading toward the deep and fast-moving water. _

_Queen Relia called out to her and pulled my mother away from the water, hugging her tightly until she broke down and cried out her pain. You mother's words of wisdom and comfort gave my mother a new perspective on her situation, and the two became friends. I will forever honor her for saving my mother's life and, consequently, my own. She even left a letter for me for when I came of age, and I memorized her words and will treasure them always. _

Thorin unconsciously brushed away a tear that had trickled into his beard. His mother's kindness and compassion were well-known, but he had never heard this story though he did not doubt its veracity. He smiled fondly and ran his finger over the words as though to summon up her spirit.

_It was just like mother to have done something like that, _he thought, and he felt a fresh stab of grief for losing her too soon. Then he turned the page.

_I also sympathize with Your Majesty for the difficult situation in which you find yourself. It is indeed infuriating to have others dictate the terms of your life, and I sympathize with your frustration and anger at being forced into a situation not of your own choosing. No dwarf of strong will and character would feel any different, and this situation is particularly galling since the consequences will last for generations. I firmly believe that one has to not only love their chosen partner in life but like them as well. Otherwise, we are no different from farm animals that are bred for their productivity._

Thorin frowned at her comment. In one sentence, she perfectly described how he felt: like a prized stallion being put out to stud. He had the power to direct the affairs of a kingdom but not his own life, and his anger burned anew at her accurate observation. At the same time, he felt comforted by her compassion and agreed with her sentiments.

_However, I feel I must bring to your attention that you are not alone in this regard. There are others here who are suffering as greatly as you, although they are better at handling it graciously. _

Thorin's mouth turned down at her obvious dig at his attitude, but he considered her point nonetheless. It never occurred to him that not every dwarrowdam was scheming to be queen of Erebor. He rubbed his mouth and reviewed his behavior over the past several days. If even a few were as upset and angry as he was, he only compounded their pain with his rudeness. That didn't sit well with him. He also noted that she, herself, completely overlooked his angry words and accusations toward her, something that he wouldn't have done had their situations been reversed. It seemed that his manners were indeed lacking, just like she said.

_Take Princess Faltha, for example. She is a lovely and loyal dwarrowdam who was forced to break off her betrothal to a noble dwarf whom she loved because her greedy father saw a chance to have access to a greater fortune here. Such a thing is a disgrace, yet did she stomp into the dining room, acting surly to everyone she met?_

Thorin shifted uneasily at her accurate portrayal of his behavior.

_Or consider Lady Mern. Are you aware that Lady Mern is not Lady Mern at all but rather her younger sister? Lady Mern, sadly, died of a fever several months ago, and to compound matters, Lord Modral had made several unsound investments that nearly emptied the treasury. Rather than admitting to his own mistakes and asking for help from his wiser brother, however, he has forced his young daughter, Meera, who is all of 14 YEARS OLD, to pose as her older sister in hopes of tempting you into matrimony—by any means necessary. This poor child has been drilled and coached every day since her sister died to catch a rich dwarf despite our laws forbidding those underage to wed. Even worse, her mother and father have made her believe that she is responsible for saving their fortunes. This poor child hasn't even had a chance to grieve her sister! I defy you now to say that your pain is worse than hers! _

Thorin dropped the letter in his lap. Now he was truly and thoroughly shocked. How could this be? These were outrages if true, and he had no reason to think otherwise. Then he thought that perhaps the mystery writer was attempting to eliminate competition. He opened the note he found.

_Help is here._

No, he decided. She wouldn't have written that if it wasn't true. Somehow she tried to help and encourage Lady Meera, who must now be feeling desperate after what had happened on the balcony. Thorin moaned softly and ran his hands over his face. He had treated her despicably, and only Mahal knows what was going on in her guest suite. Lord Modral must know by now what had happened and was probably berating the child or worse.

He rose to his feet and stormed out of the library, not bothering to read the rest of the note.

"Have Lady Mern and Lord Modral meet me in my private study immediately," he barked at a guard who nodded and ran at his command.

He paced impatiently until he heard a knock at his door. Then he seated himself behind his desk, and bid the guard to let them in. Lord Modral walked in stiffly with a scowl on his face that he quickly replaced with an insincere smile. Lady Meera followed looking anywhere but at Thorin's face. She had a purpling bruise on her cheek. A red mark matched a ring on his father's hand. Thorin ground his teeth and gripped the arms of his chair so that he wouldn't strangle the odious lord where he stood.

"You Majesty," Lord Modral said in an oily voice, "I apologize for the apparent misunderstanding between Lady Mern and yourself. I'm sure that once I explain …"

"Lady Meera," Thorin said calmly.

Lord Modral turned white, and she whipped around with shocked eyes.

"I beg your pardon, my lord?" he asked shakily.

"This is Lady Meera, your 14-year-old daughter, is she not?" Thorin asked, his voice now menacing and dangerous. He rose slowly, never taking his eyes off the now quaking dwarf in front of him. "When I told Balin before this travesty began that I had a choice of bedding several children, I didn't mean it literally. How _dare_ you bring me your underage daughter! This is a crime punishable by 30 years of hard labor in _any_ kingdom."

Lord Modral fell on his knees.

"My lord," he cried, "forgive me. I was, I was …."

Thorin glared down at the shaking dwarf.

"You were desperate because you gambled almost all the money in your treasury on bad investments."

His mouth fell open.

"How? How could you possibly know that?" Then he turned on his daughter. "Who did you tell, you sneaky, no-good …?"

Before he could get another word out of his mouth, Thorin moved quickly from behind his desk to grab him under the throat.

"Not another word, Modral, not another word unless you want to start your 30 years in the mines of Erebor!"

Then he threw him on the ground. Lady Meera held her hands to her mouth and tried to stifle her sobs.

Slowly, Thorin approached her.

"Have no fear, my lady, help is here."

Her head snapped up, and she looked at him with wide eyes.

"Was it, was it …?"

He smiled and shook his head but held out the note. She took it and held it to her breast like a precious object. He nodded and smiled again softly.

"No, child, but you have an unknown champion and defender here, and I will honor her wishes," he said gently.

Then he looked down at Modral, and his face hardened.

"You don't deserve it, but I will not let your people or your family suffer because of your stupidity," he said sternly. He pulled a rope, and a servant appeared at the door.

"Get Balin and an accountant from the treasury now."

The servant bowed and bustled off.

No one spoke until they arrived. Balin frowned when he saw who was in Thorin's private study, but he stayed silent.

"Balin, I want you to witness the transfer of enough gold and jewels to refill Lord Modral's treasury, as well as a sizable dowry for Lady Meera and each of her sisters. All will be under the management of Lord Modral's eldest brother, Lord Midal."

Lord Modral huffed slightly but dropped his head when Thorin glared at him.

"I do this only for your daughter's sake," he said sharply as his eyes filled with disgust. "She is a lovely young dwarrowdam, and she has earned my esteem and respect, which is more than I can say for you."

Then he stepped closer.

"These measures I'm taking are on the condition that you _never_ raise your hand to your children ever again. I _will_ hear of it if you do, or more importantly, your brother will, and I will send you to the deepest pit to work the new mines where cave-ins are frequent. Since your crime was committed in my realm, the sentence is mine to pass, and I doubt your brother would disagree."

All of Lord Modral's bluster disappeared, and he hung his head in agreement.

"Balin, take him away and make all the arrangements, as well as all supplies they will need to return home. Send an escort of five warriors as well as two maids to attend Lady Meera until she reaches home. I don't want him to try anything after he leaves our borders."

Balin nodded and left after Lord Modral was shoved out of the room by the accountant.

Then Thorin turned to Lady Meera.

"You need have no fear of me, child, but I kept you here to apologize. I was very wrong to treat you unkindly, and I regret it."

She stared at him curiously for a moment and then threw herself into his arms.

"Thank you! Thank you so much, my lord!" She started crying. "I don't know how much more, how much more I could have … Mern was, she was … I looked up to her, and now …."

Thorin was startled, but his arms rose of their own accord, and he stroked her hair, remembering all the times he had done the same for his sister when she was alive.

"I know, child, I know. I've lost so many, and each one hurts like the pain will never go away, but you have other sisters, do you not?"

She nodded, snuffling into his fur collar.

"Then you'll be able to comfort each other now without fear. I'll make sure that Lord Midal knows what happened. He's a good and honorable dwarf. You'll be safe now."

She pulled away and stared at him as though he confused her.

"You seemed so harsh and cold at first, but you're really not, are you?" she asked wonderingly. "I'm glad because now I won't be sorry for whomever you choose."

Thorin's brows rose, but then he chuckled at her frank honesty.

"I'm both, I suppose, depending on the circumstances," he admitted ruefully, "but I had a sister I loved dearly, and even now I love her sons as my own."

"So how did you know about all this?"

He scratched his head.

"You defender found a way to write to me and tell me of your circumstances." Then he thought of something.

"Do you know who she is?" he asked, trying to hide his sudden excitement.

She scrunched her mouth and shook her head.

"She slipped a note into my hand after Lady Talar teased me, but I never saw her."

"Did she speak to you at all?"

Meera shook her head. Then she grinned. "But someone insulted Talar after she taunted me about my dress, and I think it was her."

Thorin leaned forward like an eager dwarfling.

"What did she say?"

Balin opened the door to find both laughing and Meera wiping her eyes. Then Thorin kissed her hand.

"Safe travels, Meera, and let us know if you need anything."

She curtsied with a big smile on her face.

"My thanks, my lord. I wish I had a father like you."

He nodded after she shut the door and then asked Balin to send in Princess Faltha and her uncle.

"May I ask what you're doing, Thorin?" he wondered.

He smiled. "Clearing the board of a few more pieces, my friend."

Balin left shaking his head in confusion, and Thorin sat down. He thought about the writer's cryptic message: _Help is here._ What was her plan anyhow? Then he remembered that he didn't read the last page of her note.

_Now I want to thank you, my lord, for assisting dear Meera. I knew you'd find it within yourself to help this unfortunate child and her sisters. The son of Queen Relia could do no less. Besides, I couldn't very well offer her help and not see that she gets it! _

Thorin laughed heartily. What cheek she had to make him fulfill her promise! She was a true chess master. He shook his head in admiration of her skill and read on.

_I think you'll find Princess Faltha's uncle a bit more challenging, but just remind him of the stink he made many years ago to wed his beloved, and he'll bend. He loves his niece, and once you win him over, her father will be no problem. A small bribe of several large emeralds, however, would not go amiss!_

_And now I say farewell, my lord. If there is more mischief I can make, I will not use your mother's book to let you know. Instead, I'll use a book that's more worthy of your skill. I wish you victory over your opponents._

Thorin inhaled the scent and once again tried to place it. He ran his thumb over the flower signature. He had find out who she was, although he doubted that she would reveal herself during with her audience with him. She had proved herself far more clever than that. Sitting quietly, he thought through several strategies before nodding with satisfaction. It was time to move some pieces of his own.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed and please review! Encouragement is welcome and most needed! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you all for your wonderful response on the last chapter. That was fun. I hope you enjoy this one as well. Clues will start coming, and perhaps we'll hear from the lady herself soon ... Thank you all for your support and lovely reviews!**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

After a couple of long and tedious days had passed, the members of the company gathered together in a small dining chamber to review their progress. Platters of sausages and cheese along with long loaves of seeded breads and a generous amount of ale enhanced their cheerful mood.

"Well, now, I think things are humming along just fine," Bofur said through a thick cloud of pipe smoke, "just fine, in fact. How many have we pushed out the door so far?"

Ori counted on his fingers. "Four from that breakfast …"

"Lady Fregma," Balin added with a wink and a nod at his brother, who ducked his head, "although that was her own choice."

"The one that Nori frightened halfway to the Halls of Mandos that night in the corridor," Kili added, "but that wasn't intentional, was it?"

"Well, it was for her," he replied with a grin. "She _intended_ to leave immediately afterward."

They all shared a good laugh and hoisted their tankards.

"And the two that uncle somehow got rid of," Fili finished, "so that makes eight."

"Did anyone find out how he did that?" Dori asked. Everyone shrugged. Why those two left was a mystery. Both dwarrowdams looked thrilled to go too. How did Thorin get them to leave _happy?_ It made no sense, and his behavior since then was strange as well. He walked about now with a small smile on his face, and he even kept the council's schedule without complaining. When he wasn't with the any of his prospective brides, he headed to the library to pour over random books without reading any of them. The others scratched their heads. Their king was up to something.

"So why can't we do the boils now?" Kili argued. "Enough time has passed."

The rest of the company called out ideas as various visions came to mind, and their voices grew louder as they argued about just where and how to dribble the noxious liquid.

"You just want to see what'd happen," Dwalin answered, glaring under his bushy brows, "but I've had enough of Oin's potions."

Balin shook his head as well and held out his hands to stop their arguing. "We have to stick to the plan," he said over the voices of the others. "If we move too quickly, the council members will suspect. Give it another day or so at least, lads. I know you're eager, but all has to be handled carefully remember. We can't go losing our heads."

Fili frowned and tugged at his moustache.

"Aye, I suppose," he said. "Besides, with eight dwarrowdams gone in less than a week, we have plenty of time to get rid of the rest."

Just then someone knocked on the door. Gloin opened it and rolled his eyes as Dolor and the rest of the council members strode in looking mighty pleased with themselves.

"Ah, of course," Dolor purred snidely. "Now why would you all need to meet in _secret?_ Perhaps to plan—or _plot?"_

Balin turned slowly to face him.

"If you have a charge to make," he replied between his teeth, "make it, or leave us be." Then he snorted and stepped up to the councilor who adopted a haughty pose. "What's suspicious about time spent with friends anyway? We're enjoying good food and good company, Dolor—something you wouldn't know anything about."

Fili walked over and stood next to Balin to present a united front. The other councilors flinched slightly at the prince of Durin's tall and angry posture, but then they regrouped around Dolor like mice around cheese.

"Aye, now what do you lot want?" Fili asked roughly, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Dolor bowed to him and Kili and then smiled maliciously.

"We've come to announce that more noble dwarrowdams should be arriving shortly," he said, and he clasped his hands across his ample belly to wait for the response. He didn't wait long.

"What?" Kili exploded as he jumped to his feet and send his plate tipping over to crash on the floor. "Uncle Thorin was told that only about 20 were coming! How many more did you invite?"

Dolor grinned wider if that was possible. His smile stretched across his yellow teeth like a crescent moon.

"Dear me, did we forget to mention the second round of invitations we sent out?" He turned to Malar, yet another round and pompous dwarf.

"By Mahal, I believe we did," he answered with an evil smirk. "How careless! Whose job was it to tell the king?"

They looked around at each other, all feigning ignorance.

"Oh, I believe it was Folgrin's job, but he was struck with that nasty stomach upset," Dolor said knowingly. He tapped his cheek. Then he stopped and stared with narrowed eyes at Balin, Dwalin, and the princes, who all feigned ignorance much more successfully.

"Humph," he said, irritated that he couldn't flush them out, "well, more are on their way and should arrive in a day or so. Please tell the king, if you'd be so kind. We need to make preparations."

They chuckled among themselves and then turned to leave.

"Does Princess Onkra have everything she needs then?" Kili called out to Dolor's retreating back. "If not, I could make a few suggestions!"

Dolor stiffened and muttered something under his breath as Bofur kicked the door closed with his foot.

"Well, that tears it," Balin said glumly. "Our king will be fit to be tied. Who wants to tell him?"

* * *

In the meantime, Thorin wrote orders that all dwarrowdams be assigned a personal guard—for their _safety._ He had the guards explain that the mountain was vast and that there were too many opportunities for accidents. The dwarrowdams giggled and cooed over the king's apparent thoughtfulness, but what he really wanted, of course, was constant reports on their movements.

_I am going to find her!_

What he intended to do once he did, he hadn't worked out yet. Her words kept running through his mind though, and he couldn't stop imagining who she might be. He had always enjoyed a puzzle, and this once tortuous ordeal now took on an air of expectation.

"Do you like flowers, Lady Bruffa?" he asked as he walked outside with her on the terraced gardens that were cut into the side of the mountain that faced the rising sun. After Erebor was retaken, Thorin assigned some dwarves to repair and replant his mother's gardens, and after two years, they had regained much of their former glory. Shaped into geometric patterns, the vibrantly colored, flower beds were guarded by boxwood topiaries of various animals. Visitors could sit and enjoy the scenery on carved marble benches. There was even a secluded arbor that lovers often visited.

Thorin sighed as his mind wandered to his mother. She had survived the fall of Erebor, but her health suffered for many years until she finally succumbed to pneumonia one wet spring just before they reached the Blue Mountains. Even in her last hours, her words were ones of encouragement for those she loved.

_Indeed, I owe her my life…._

Snapping back to the present, he shook off his sudden melancholy and asked the question again. Lady Bruffa waved a damp handkerchief in the air as if to shoo away nature and then sneezed once more into its sodden folds. Her dull, blue irises looked brighter against the bloodshot whites of her eyes.

"I prefer gems, my lord," she snuffled out. "They last longer and don't make one's nose itch."

He nodded and then leaned in slightly and sniffed. She smelled faintly of lye soap. His nose wrinkled.

_Apparently not._

Later, he replayed the same scene with Lady Wogren, a fairly attractive, blond dwarrowdam with hazel eyes.

"Oh, I like whatever flowers _you_ prefer, my lord," she simpered, batting her lashes as though she had something in her eyes. "I firmly believe that a queen needs to adapt her preferences to her _king._"

She moved in closer with a swing of her hips, her wide, v-neck, green gown slightly too tight on her buxom figure. Sashaying as she walked, she kept fiddling with the top of her sleeve.

"Oh, dear me," she said suddenly as her sleeve dropped off her shoulder, showing a lot more skin than Thorin wanted to see.

"Oh, my lord, would you mind?" she asked sweetly.

He stood confused.

"Mind what, my lady?"

She flounced her now-bare shoulder and looked up at him under her lashes.

"I'm afraid I need a little help with my dress, my lord. It seems to have come undone. I'm absolutely _mortified!_"

He cringed internally and hesitated before lightly tugging up her sleeve.

"What strong hands, you have, my lord!" she cooed. "Any dwarrowdam would be putty in your hands, to be sure."

At first he thought she might be teasing him, but when he stepped closer he caught a whiff of her pungent perfume. The aroma made his nose burn and eyes water. She was perfectly serious.

_Definitely not._

Later that evening, after the feast, he walked back toward his chamber with Balin.

"I notice you seem a bit preoccupied lately, laddie," he said. "Anything amiss?"

Thorin shrugged without answering. He had not heard from the mystery writer for several days now, and he was increasingly restless. She wouldn't use his mother's book again and, anyway, what else was there to say? She had helped those she thought worthy, and perhaps now she was just letting things run their course. Her silence unsettled him, but he didn't know what to do next. In his spare time, he had checked through different books in the library on warfare and tactics but found nothing. Then he thought back to the banquet.

Princess Onkra had entered last as usual, but this time she insisted on sitting next to the king, and with Dain at the table, Thorin did not refuse. She tucked in after much careful maneuvering of her chair by burly dwarf guards, and she instructed the servants to place the platters around her plate. Thorin heard another soft snort in the room.

"I must compliment you on your place settings, my lord," she said delicately as she gnawed noisily on a joint of mutton. "There is an art to feasting that we, dwarves, have mastered, don't you think? Others see food merely as sustenance. What a waste. I pity those who see food as only a means of increasing their productivity like farm animals."

Thorin's head whipped around at her comment. He watched her smack her fat lips and listened to her satisfied grunting with increasing dismay. It had to be a coincidence. He would allow no other possibility.

"Did she say farm animals?" Bofur whispered to Nori.

"Aye," he replied, "and we all know which one we're thinking of."

Then Dain turned to his cousin.

"I know that you've had a busy day, Thorin," he started after smiling and patting his daughter's fat and greasy hand, "but I'd like a word with you tomorrow night. It's been too long since we've talked."

Thorin turned to his cousin and smiled tightly, knowing that Dain would take at least some of that time to argue his daughter's case.

"Aye," he said leaning over so only Dain could hear, "a little male company would be welcome."

The Lord of the Iron Hills laughed.

"I take no offense, although many would kill to be in your boots, cousin," he replied good-naturedly.

* * *

"Laddie," Balin said, finally prodding his arm, "you drifted off again."

Thorin hummed absent-mindedly as they walked when suddenly an envelope twirled down in front of them like a maple seed in the breeze. Balin was surprised, but Thorin inhaled deeply in relief and grinned widely. He picked up the letter and then looked up at a hidden balcony. A slight rustle told him that someone was still there. Suddenly, he sprinted toward a narrow staircase, and Balin hurried behind him.

Taking the steps two at a time, Thorin turned the corner and whipped back the red velvet curtain. No one was there. He grunted angrily and pounded his hand on the railing. Then he closed his eyes and inhaled the fresh, spring scent that he now only identified with her.

"What in Erebor are you doing?" Balin asked, huffing and puffing behind him. Then he sniffed the air and put his hands on his hips. "What's going on, lad? We've both been working behind the scenes, but now I think we'd better join forces before we trip each other up."

Thorin didn't answer but instead ripped the letter open.

_Your Royal Highness,_

_My, quite the charmer you've become! I'm relieved that you've recovered from your illness and that your manners have returned. You were most difficult without them, although I suspect that your illness might be a chronic one._

Thorin laughed out loud, and Balin looked amazed.

_However, I'm writing to you now to warn you of a plot to force your hand. A noble dwarrowdam is planning to sneak into your bed tonight after midnight. I had no other way to warn you, Your Majesty, but I'm sure you'll know what to do. However, if you're short on ideas, I suggest the pointy end of a letter opener. Lord Balin would be an excellent witness, but I imagine that finding Lord Dwalin in your bed instead might make a better memory for all to enjoy—except for Lord Dwalin, although it might make up for Lady Fregma. On second thought, you might also want a council member there as a witness and for extra humiliation._

_Your Amused Servant,_

He gazed fondly at the flower sprig but then his face turned stern at her words.

"What's this about?" Balin asked again. Thorin silently handed him the letter.

"Oh, my," he said and sat on a low bench on one side. He read it again. Then he looked up as Thorin's strange behavior finally made sense.

"So, she's the one who has you tied up in knots," he observed while keeping a shrewd eye on his king.

"I'm _not_ tied up in knots, Balin!" Thorin retorted, looking more offended than he ought.

Balin smirked and put his hands on his knees. Then he spied something on the ground.

Thorin bent over and picked up a small hair pin. It was delicate and beautifully made with a small cluster of white and yellow diamonds as the flowers and emeralds as the leaves. Balin pulled out his loupe that he always carried with him and wiggled his fingers for Thorin to hand it over. He took his time and examined it critically, turning it over to find the maker's mark. Thorin paced impatiently, his dark brows heavy over his eyes.

"So you're looking for this mystery lady then?" his old friend asked seriously.

He nodded.

"Why? What do you want with her?"

Up until that moment, Thorin didn't really know. At first it was to wring her neck, but perhaps now it was to thank her for adding cheer and a sense of lightness to his life. He shrugged, still unsure.

"Well, laddie," Balin said matter-of-factly, "you won't have far to look because this pin was made here at Erebor."

* * *

Late that night, far past midnight, Thorin sat quietly in the dark with Balin and Malar, who often shifted his bulk in a creaky chair.

"Will you be quiet?" Balin demanded, giving the reluctant councilor an elbow in the side.

"I refuse to believe that any of our noble women folk would do something so wanton and dishonorable," he sniffed. "They are …"

"As precious as mithril and as delicate as the petals of a flower," said Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin in unison.

"Anything else you'd like to add?" Thorin asked sarcastically.

Malar grumbled resentfully. This was a waste of time, in his opinion, and part of some nefarious plot to rob him of much-needed sleep. He opened his mouth, about to speak his mind, when all heard quiet footsteps in the hall.

The door to Thorin's chambers slowly swung open. He reminded himself to dismiss the guards at the door immediately, since they were clearly bought off. Then he made a mental note to tighten security everywhere. Some of the guards were too busy watching the dwarrowdams to pay attention at their posts. The door cracked open, and someone stepped slowly into the room.

Dwalin started snoring quietly. The others heard soft footfalls and the sound of sheets being pulled back. The mattress creaked with extra weight, and soft whisperings promised a night to remember. Then came a sudden shriek.

"Where is your _hair!_"

Thorin and the others turned their lamps up to see a shocked Lady Wogren in bed with a greatly amused Dwalin. She grabbed the sheets up to her nearly exposed bosom while he guffawed loudly.

"Well, I think this makes up for Lady Fregma, Dwalin," Thorin said with heavy irony, "although I admit that she was a noble and honorable dwarrowdam at least."

Then he looked Lady Wogren up and down with obvious contempt. "Which is more than I can say here."

Malar's mouth hung open until Balin shut it with his hand.

"So, I think you'll agree that we were in the right after all, eh, councilor? Would you mind telling the others, or shall I do it for you?"

Balin wore the face of a cat who had licked the last drop of the cream, but the fat councilor's mouth wobbled until he coughed and cleared his throat. Fixing an outraged look on his face, he marched over to the bed. Lady Wogren scrambled out as fast as she could and ran for the door, but Thorin blocked her path.

"I think we're done here, my lady," he said curtly. "I leave it to Malar here to explain this all to your father; that is, assuming he doesn't already know."

After Malar escorted her back to her chambers, lecturing her sternly all the while, Dwalin turned to Thorin with a smirk. He felt more his old self after this adventure and rubbed his head where she had tried to stroke his non-existent hair.

"How did you know?"

He smiled. "I have someone on the inside it seems."

Balin chuckled.

"I wish we could have used the letter opener though."

Dwalin looked at him, not understanding, but Thorin laughed.

"I like her," Balin said with a twinkle in his eye.

Thorin grinned and shook his head in amusement.

_Aye._

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**Please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks again for all of your fun and encouraging reviews! I am grateful for all who are following and favoriting. So many of you are guessing who the mystery lady is. Good guesses all of you! Here she is! Ta da!**

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**Chapter 8**

"I say we do it now," Kili argued the next night after the feast. He had pulled his brother into a small antechamber after another disastrous evening. "Uncle was mad enough when the first group arrived, and now I'm sure he's livid to find out that more greedy dwarrowdams are on their way. He looked beyond grim at the feast."

Fili hummed in agreement at that last comment. He stood and paced back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back in a perfect imitation of the king.

"No, we need to wait at least until all the new ones arrive. In the meantime, we can spread rumors that some illness that causes boils or pox is spreading along the trade routes. Everyone will believe us because some sickness comes round every spring. Didn't Princess Faltha say as much when she was here?"

Kili nodded, impressed by his brother's logic. He took in his brother's posture, the set of his shoulders, and the knot in his forehead. Fili stood frowning like he was mentally summoning up storm clouds to rain over the dwarrowdams and council both. Kili bit his lip in amusement.

"You'll make a good king, Fili," he said grinning impishly. He flicked his forefinger up and down at his brother's Thorin-like stance and facial expression. "Aye, you even strut like him."

Fili stopped at once, unclasped his hands, and straightened up.

"I do _NOT strut!_"

"Anyway," Kili said, still smirking, "your plan is brilliant and will give us the time we need."

* * *

"So we need to research all the latest fortune and holdings figures from all the clans presenting their dwarrowdams," Dolor intoned as Folgrin pulled out a number of scrolls and several books from racks in the main council chamber. "Ideally, we're looking for one with a substantial fortune with no liens or mortgages on property. Connections are secondary unless they also have substantial resources."

The youngest council member scoffed.

"What does it matter when the king can choose whom he wills?"

Dolor looked down his nose at his associate. "Since one dwarrowdam is as much alike as another in his eyes, I'm sure reason will sway him to our choice. However, I do agree with his assessment of Princess Onkra, unfortunately. Her manner would be, um, difficult to work with should she become queen."

"Aye," another said, "we need a rich dwarrowdam who's sweet and pliable. I don't fancy facing one like Princess Dis, although she upheld her house with honor."

The council members chorused in agreement more for form's sake than for actual sentiment.

"So we all are agreed then to choose the best dwarrowdam and help her attract the king's attention?" Dolor asked. "We don't need more like Lady Wogren."

They all nodded and unrolled the scrolls and opened the books to find the most financially eligible dwarrowdam. Even though they were all well off, they would benefit handsomely from the family should they help her win the king's attention. Already, the bribes they had received for various favors had fattened their already bulging coffers.

* * *

Thorin sat at his desk, staring at the blank piece of paper before him. Then he unlaced the front of his tunic and pulled up a soft, leather pouch that hung on a cord around his neck. Opening it, he pulled out the letters and the jeweled pin of the mystery writer and spread them out next to the paper. He twiddled a white quill between his fingers. It was his move now, and he carefully considered what he wanted to write. A wicked grin curled his lips as he dipped his quill, and he chuckled occasionally at his witty words. Signing finally with a bold flourish, he sat back and enjoyed imagining how she would respond.

Then someone knocked on his door, and he quickly but gently folded the note in his palm. Dain opened his door holding two tankards and a large bottle of whiskey. He looked around at the opulence of Thorin's private study, and his brows rose. The black granite walls were covered with tapestries of his adventures with the company and the mountain itself. A carving of them made from one of Smaug's huge teeth carried the runes, "The House of Durin Will Endure With The Help of Loyal Friends" and hung over the huge mantel piece. Built-in stone shelves held hundreds of books and scrolls. Thorin's writing desk was enormous. It was piled high with sheaves of paper, maps of trade routes, contracts, and various other legal matters. Filling the back quarter of the room, it stood in front of a large tapestry that held the record of the Durin lineage and related clans. Dain looked down and shook his head in admiration. Thorin's over-sized inkwell was silver and carved in the shape of Smaug. The great dragon's open mouth held the ink.

_So Thorin gets to stab Smaug every time he writes, _Dain thought with amusement. _That fits._

Lamps made from gold and crystal cast cheerful light, and the huge fireplace drove away the mountain chill. Two overstuffed, leather chairs rested before the fireplace with a thick fur rug between them. The study looked both imposing and comfortable; that is, imposing to any who might be summoned and comfortable for the king who had to spend a lot of time there.

"I thought you might want something stronger after the news you received," Dain said merrily, and he thumped the mugs on Thorin's desk. He poured until the whiskey reached the rims, and he quickly chugged his down. Thorin took a small swallow and fingered the handle cautiously.

"You wish to condole with me about more dwarrowdams invading my halls?" he asked suspiciously as he eyed the already half-empty bottle in front of him. "I thought you said that others would kill to be in my place."

He looked up, and his expression changed to one of confused concern as Dain's cheerful demeanor dropped, and the corners of his mouth turned down. The Lord of the Iron Hills walked over to the fireplace and leaned his forehead on his arm as he stared into the fire. Neither spoke for some minutes while Dain watched the flames, seemingly somewhere else in time and place.

"I did this once; do you remember?" he asked, finally looking back at Thorin who nodded slowly.

"I seem to recall it now."

"It was many years ago when I was in your place," he said.

Thorin stood from the desk, still holding the note, and gestured to the chairs in front of the fire. Dain sat down with a nod of thanks. He ran his hand through his wild hair, making it stick up like random stalagmites in a cave.

"I had my pick of any in the land, but…."

"But?" Thorin prodded after a moment.

A spasm of pain tightened Dain's face. He drew breath as though he wanted to speak, but then he hung his head and gripped the back of his neck with one hand. He shook himself as though to throw off a heavy burden. Sighing heavily, he got up and stood again in front of the fire.

"I think I prefer to tell you this way," he said. "Then I might be able to bear my shame."

Thorin was perplexed but waved his hand. "Go on."

"So you remember that time when I had to choose a bride from among the best in the land?" he asked.

Thorin nodded.

"But," Dain started, "but I had already chosen long before, cousin. My heart already belonged to someone else."

At this, Thorin joined him at the fire.

"You never told me this," he said. "Who was she?"

Dain held his forehead in one hand. His body bent in pain, and he seemed to shrink in on himself.

"She was the daughter of a dwarf of the Irons Hills," he said slowly. "He worked in a respected profession but was not of the nobility nor a warrior."

Then he worked his jaw and snorted angrily. His green eyes flashed fire.

"Oh, father didn't mind my being with her," he said bitterly. "He even encouraged the relationship. 'She steadies you, son. She's good for you, lad.' What rubbish! She was plenty good enough for me, until it was time for me to wed, that is, and then he told me to cast her off like an old cloak."

Thorin's brows knitted together in consternation, and he reached forward and put his broad hand on his cousin's shoulder.

"I didn't know," he said softly. "I'm sorry, Dain."

Dain flinched and held up his hand.

"I don't deserve your pity, Thorin, because I made matters worse. I wed the princess who birthed Onkra. She, too, was forced into this mockery of a union, but she honestly wanted to make it work. I didn't. We, we spent one night together as husband and wife, and she got pregnant. I never touched her again. Within the year, she died in childbirth from loneliness. Even worse, even _worse,_ she knew, she _knew_ that I never left my first and only love."

Thorin eyes widened, and he was struck dumb with surprise. His fingers tightened around the note. Dwarves took their marriage vows as sacred, and adultery was not tolerated under any circumstances. His blue eyes stared in shock at his cousin who turned away from his instinctive disgust.

"I know, I know, I'm a cad and a cheat, and if Onkra's other kin ever heard of this, they would demand blood payment. Poor Onkra. I killed her mother as much as if I put her to the ax, so I did everything I could to make up for it."

Thorin's breath hissed between his teeth. This explained a lot of why Onkra was the way she was. Dain watched his cousin carefully and saw the wheels turning.

"Aye, I spoiled her rotten," Dain said. "I felt it was the least I could do, but I know now that I've failed as a father as well as a husband. Onkra didn't have to turn out like her mother, and it's my doing."

He slumped back tiredly into the chair.

"I know you thought I came here tonight to plead her case," he said quietly, "but I'm here to tell you to find your own love in life and not to give in to this farce."

Thorin nodded his appreciation.

"Whatever happened to the, to your …?" He gestured the rest.

"Oh, she died finally from an illness some years later," Dain replied, his voice breaking. "I couldn't even mourn her properly. Her family buried her, and it wasn't until weeks had passed that I could sneak out to her tomb at night to say goodbye."

Thorin crushed the note in his hand, and it crackled like the flames before him. A face dimly appeared in his memory, wavered, and disappeared. He must have seen her during a visit, but he didn't remember clearly.

"So do you and she have a…?" Thorin began carefully. He couldn't finish the sentence.

Dain looked up, his eyes bright and bloodshot.

"Don't let them do this to you, Thorin," he said, his face now hard and closed. "It will never stop, never! Find your own wife; be your own king. Don't give in like I did."

He pushed himself out of the chair and walked unsteadily to Thorin's desk and grabbed the bottle. He tipped it up and drank until rivulets ran down his red and gray-streaked beard. Then he stalked toward the door and leaned heavily against the frame. He gripped the knob for support.

"Make it end with you, Thorin," he rasped. "Make it end with you."

* * *

Long after all had gone to sleep, Thorin sat at his desk, running Dain's words over and over in his mind. He never would have thought his cousin capable of such a thing, but to be forced to give up the love of his life for politics was just as terrible. He poured himself another drink. He had been content enough alone, but Dain's words had shaken him more than he wanted to admit.

_Could I do something so heinous?_

His mind immediately conjured up the image of Bilbo hanging by his heels in answer. He cringed and drank some more. He had decided before Dain's visit to thank the mystery writer. He owed her that much since she did him a great service. What would have happened otherwise? He shuddered at the thought of finding Lady Wogren in his bed. Then he thought of wanting _anyone_ in his bed.

He imagined coming back from a long council meeting and having someone waiting for him with a loving smile on her face. She would listen with sympathy while he shared his difficult day, and he would listen to her stories. Her gentle jokes and wit would tease away his cares, and together they would sit in one of the soft, leather chairs. She would snuggle on his lap, and he would wrap his arms around her and pull her close...

Thorin sat up and shook himself. It must be the whiskey playing with his mind. He growled angrily, and his silvered locks swung around his face.

_I need no one. _

He strode over to the fire and threw in the note. Home and hearth were for _other_ dwarves. It had always been so, and he was not about to change now. Why, if not for his single-minded determination, no dwarf would _ever_ have reclaimed the mountain. Procuring an heir was enough and easily achieved without entanglements. The little tenderness he felt belonged to his nephews as was proper. Love was for _family,_ not strangers. He poured another drink.

Reaching over, he pulled off another sheet of paper. Then he took out a sharp knife and whittled the end of his feather quill. Stabbing Smaug once again, he wrote:

_To the Mystery Writer,_

_I thank you for your timely warning._

_Thorin Oakenshield, __King of Erebor._

He frowned. Despite his resolve, the note was terse and ungrateful. He dipped his quill and tried again.

_To the Mystery Writer,_

_I thank you for your timely warning. Your advice was sound, and Lady Wogren left the next morning._

_Thorin Oakenshield, __King of Erebor_

He frowned again, still unsatisfied, and a blob of ink slipped off the tip of his quill and splattered on the paper. Crumpling up his first two tries, he sat forward and tried again. When he finished writing, he snarled in anger, crunched it between his hands, and tipped up the bottle.

Hours later, Balin and Dwalin knocked on the door and stepped inside after hearing soft snoring. They stopped and stared around in surprise at their king slumped over in his chair with a quill in his hand. On the top of his desk and all around the floor were crumpled pieces of paper. Balin picked one up.

_To the Mystery Writer,_

_I thank you for your timely warning and your advice. Lord Dwalin's spirits were much improved. I also appreciated your help to Lady Meera and Princess Faltha. I …_

"Brother," Balin said handing out the note. Dwalin read it and handed him one in exchange.

_My Lady,_

_I thank you for your timely warning and your advice. Lord Dwalin's spirits were much improved, and I must say that your notes have improved mine as well. I also appreciated your help to Lady Meera and Princess …_

Then they found the empty whiskey bottle.

"I hope he didn't drink it all himself," Balin said, "else he'll be in quite a state tomorrow."

Dwalin shrugged and sniffed the whiskey on his breath.

"Must have been Dain," he replied, "and knowing him, he'd drink at least half the bottle, so there's hope."

Balin tugged on his brother's arm.

"Look at this."

On Thorin's desk was the final note in flowing script.

_To My Lady and Master Strategist,_

_I thank you for your sound and timely advice. In one clever move, you both rescued me from an unfortunate marriage and restored Lord Dwalin's spirits. Lord Balin thoroughly enjoyed the moment as well, although I can't say the same for council member Malar. Likewise, I thank you for your sincere concern for Princess Faltha and Lady Meera. You spared two honorable dwarrowdams from great unhappiness. Life with me is difficult at best, and I'm glad that they were saved from such a fate. _

_While I have no right to ask more, considering what you saved me from, I claim the prerogative of a king and command you now to reveal your identity. I don't know how this summons will reach you, but if you're as clever as you seem to be, you'll find it with ease. I expect your answer tomorrow night. Do not disappoint me. _

_Thorin Oakenshield, __King of Erebor_

"Aye, well, he has a long way to go if he's intending to court this lass," Dwalin muttered after reading.

Balin looked incredulous.

"What would you know?" he asked.

The burly warrior folded his arms across his chest.

"Enough to know this isn't the way to go about it."

Balin opened his mouth to reply and then thought better of it. They glanced again at their king.

"Aye, you're probably right. So what should we do now?"

"About what?"

"About the note," Balin said rolling his eyes. "He'd never send this on his own. I'll wager he only wrote this after he emptied the bottle. I know he wants to find out who she is, but he'd never say that he'd be disappointed if she didn't answer."

Dwalin pursed his lips.

"Are you suggesting, what I think you're suggesting?"

Balin's eyes sparkled with mischief. He picked up the note, folded it, and heated the wax. After fixing the royal seal, he rocked back on his heels and wagged his brows.

"What're you doing?" Dwalin asked skeptically. "It's not our place to interfere. Besides, you know this won't help his suit, so why sent it?"

Balin cocked his head. Then he broke into a wide grin.

"I'm not interfering, brother. I'm simply helping a friend, and if this lass is as smart as I think she is, she'll be able to read between the lines."

* * *

As the sun crested the horizon, and the first light of day sent a warm glow on the gates of Erebor, a slight figure slipped along the corridor to the library. She pushed on the door and smiled. No one yet had discovered the very small block of wood she had fixed in the lock to keep the door open. Silently, she moved among the stacks, fingering and touching the books. Humming in satisfaction, she pulled out a book on chess strategies whose cover didn't close completely. He didn't put this note here, she was certain, and she looked behind her quickly to make sure that no one followed her. Pulling out the sealed paper, she hurried back to her chambers. She glanced down the hall at her door to make certain that no one had seen her. Sitting down at her table, she carefully unfolded the note and traced the bold signature at the bottom. She moved her candle closer and began to read. Her face softened at his comment about being difficult to live with. She ran a slim finger over his words.

_So, my lord, you're as hard on yourself as you are on everyone else. That's no surprise._

Then she read further and huffed. So he decided to change the rules of the game, did he? And in such an arrogant fashion! She tapped her finger against her lips as she thought through several smart responses. Then she sighed as Queen Relia's words came to mind.

_He's so serious, so serious and alone in his mind. I fear for him. _

She smiled sadly in remembrance. The queen often talked about her eldest son. She found herself wanting to meet him face to face at last.

_What's the worst that could happen if I reveal myself?_

After pondering the answer that immediately came to mind, she realized how to reply without giving herself away. Her eyes sparkled with glee as she pulled out a quill, cut her point, and began to write.

"Let's see what he makes of this!" she said to herself with a small smile playing about her lips. She wrote for some time and then waited for the ink to dry before folding the note. She laughed softly as she imagined the look on his face when he read her reply.

_I haven't had this much fun in years._

* * *

**Game on and please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**What a wonderful response to the last chapter! Thank you, thank you! It's so much fun to hear from everyone. More clues are in this chapter, but I'll let you guess if they match.**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Thorin woke up with his head pulsing like the battle drum of an orc battalion. Shifting painfully in his chair, he braced his elbows on his desk, and dropped his bleary face in his hands. He had no idea what time it was, and he didn't care. His mouth felt dry like it had been packed with wool. Someone knocked on the door, and he winced painfully.

"Enter." His voice echoed in his head. Dain's whiskey must have been _extra_ potent because he knew he hadn't had _that _much. Then he glanced at the empty bottle and groaned.

Balin bustled in with a wide grin, far too cheerfully for his taste.

"Good morning!" he chirped.

"Is it?" Thorin mumbled. He rubbed his aching temples.

"Aye, well, at least we're not at war," Balin replied with a sunny grin.

Thorin looked up sourly and blinked to see his friend through the haze. Balin looked like a huge, papa dwarf doll.

"That's what you think."

Balin came around the desk and surveyed his obviously hung-over king.

"My, what happened to you, Thorin? Did Dain stop by? And what're all these papers doing on your desk and on the floor?"

All at once, last night's conversation crashed down on him, and he bolted upright and pushed papers around his desk frantically.

"No, no, no!" he cried as his eyes darted around looking for his finished note. "Where is it?"

Balin was relieved that his king was too distracted to see the smug grin on his face.

"Where's what?"

Thorin gripped the edge of this desk and grew very still. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes.

"I wrote a note last night when I wasn't in the best frame of mind," he rumbled in a hoarse baritone. "I didn't think I sent it, but it seems now that perhaps I did."

Balin held his hands under his belly and swayed back and forth as though deep in thought. It made Thorin queasy.

"Who was it to?"

At that, Thorin looked up and growled.

"To her," he retorted, "to the mystery writer."

Balin made a show of considering options. He grunted and held his chin. Then he scratched his temple and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, so you sent it then. So what?"

Thorin's fingers kneaded his forehead in circles.

"I wasn't myself when I wrote the letter, and I fear I may come off as …"

"As what? Even so, why should you care? You're king."

After a quiet moment, Thorin raised wounded and despairing eyes to his friend, and Balin's mirth faded away. The time for teasing was over.

"You like her, don't you?" he asked gently.

Thorin shook his head. His shoulders dropped, and he ran his hands over his head through his hair, yanking roughly on the tangles.

"After last night I don't know what I feel."

Balin pulled up a chair, sat, and put his hands on his knees. He didn't know what could have happened last night to upset Thorin like this. Dain was a drinker, sure, and a bit of a braggart and teller of tall tales, but he was never serious. Balin was puzzled, but he could see that his king was uncharacteristically vulnerable and confused.

"Do you want to tell your old friend about it?"

Thorin's brow furrowed in concentration.

"It's not my story to tell."

Balin sighed. He had watched Thorin grow up under an indifferent father and increasingly mad grandfather, both too busy with other matters to talk, really talk to him about matters of the heart. Thorin, in all important ways, grew up alone. His brother and sister were too young to share any real concerns, and he had few male friends. Being a prince naturally brought hangers-on, and Thorin became distrustful of those who only wanted his influence. Balin had never seen him interested in any dwarrowdam, not until now at least. Whoever she was, she put a light in his eyes that Balin was afraid might die—for good—if he didn't pursue her.

"Laddie," He said seriously, "I know that you were forced into this whole business of choosing a wife, but I've never seen you so distracted by one of our women folk before. What if, well, what if she's the one?"

Thorin put the heels on his hands on his eyes and pressed hard. In his few spare moments he dared consider the same, but after Dain's story….

"What if she's not?"

Balin sighed dramatically and shook his head sadly.

"Aye, perhaps, but I never thought I'd see the royal Durin line give up so easily."

At that, Thorin reared up, his eyes blazing. Balin faced his fury calmly.

"What did you say?" he roared, all fogginess gone.

Balin sat completely at ease.

"You heard me. Do you need me to say it again? Now don't you get your back up. I'm not saying that you don't have courage when it comes to battle. Ach, there no one can touch you, lad. Besides, perhaps you're right, and it'll be some other dwarf who catches the saucy lass."

He chuckled fondly. "Aye, with a lass like that a dwarf would never grow bored. It'll be brash lad indeed who wins such a one."

He paused to listen to Thorin's angry puffs of air and twiddled his thumbs aimlessly.

"Hmm, come to think of it, there may be others even now pursuing her. Wouldn't surprise me one bit."

Suddenly standing to his full height, Thorin threw back his shoulders, and his hair swung around his neck. Gone was the desolate dwarf, and in his place stood the powerful King of Erebor. His eyes darkened with a predatory gleam, and a cruel smirk twisted his lips.

"Assemble the company after the feast, Balin," he said firmly. "I want her found, and I want you to put your plans aside until she is."

Tugging hard on his robes, which sat askew on his shoulders, Thorin clenched his hands and strode purposefully out the door. Balin chuckled to himself and hummed a merry tune under his breath.

"Well, well," he said to himself, "that took a little doing, but it was worth it."

* * *

Thorin walked quickly down the main stairs and, without a word, snatched the day's schedule out of Dolor's hand.

"Oh, my lord," the councilor called after him, "reports are coming in of a pox-like illness spreading along the trade routes. Since we've had travelers from all over Middle-earth, we're at risk. In fact, the contagion may have already passed our borders."

Thorin turned on his heel.

"What do you want me to do about it?" he asked angrily with his hands on his hips and the schedule crushed in his fist. "Have all the ladies stripped and disinfected? You invited them all here, so you deal with it. I will have Oin take measures to protect my people. You're responsible for the rest."

Then he stormed away leaving Dolor unsettled for the first time since the council had decreed that the king must marry. He had hoped that Durin's heir would buckle under these events, so the council could increase its power and influence. However, it seems that something else had happened instead. He had felt a sudden shiver of dread looking into the stern and commanding face of his liege. Thorin no longer looked sullen and glum, and he stared after the king as he strode away tall and determined. The council had secretly decided to distract and wear the king down lest he discover certain _irregularities_ in the books, and finding Thror's order was a blessing. Dolor tugged on his beard and watched Thorin issue a series of orders with renewed energy and assurance. He hastened away to meet with fellow council members. Something had changed, and they needed to plan.

After Oin left to confer with Thorin on how best to prevent or at least contain an outbreak, Fili and Kili snuck into the infirmary.

"Now which one is the boils bottle?" Fili asked. Kili coughed and rubbed his throat.

"Have a little too much to drink with Bofur last night, brother?" Fili joked.

Kili grinned.

"Aye," he said a bit roughly, "but I wasn't the one left under the table."

Fili scratched an itch in his cheek and cocked his head toward the cabinet where Oin kept his tinctures.

"Come on," he said, "we don't have much time."

They pulled out the tray that he had showed them and picked through the bottles.

"I'm sure it's this one," Kili said, holding up a clear bottle with amber fluid. Fili shook his head.

"No, it's this one," he retorted holding up an amber bottle with clear fluid inside.

"Well," Kili replied, "let's uncork them then."

Fili's bottle smelled like flowers, but the liquid in Kili's bottle smelled strange and a little like pee.

"Ewww, this has to be it, brother," Kili said, holding the bottle up to Fili who flinched.

"Ugh, stop waving that under my nose!"

After determining which dwarrowdams they wanted gone, the brothers slipped into their rooms and rubbed the liquid on their bushes and combs with a cloth. They also rubbed some on the doorknobs and anything else they thought would be touched. Then they threw out the gloves they wore and headed back to get something to eat.

"I can't wait to see this!" Fili sniggered. Kili nodded with a sly grin.

"Aye," he replied, "I know that Balin said to wait, but we needed to act now. Word should be spreading about the sickness, so the council will never suspect."

* * *

"So then I said that she should wear the red dress, and I should wear the blue because blue goes _so_ much better with my eyes, don't you think, my lord?"

Thorin and the Lady Grola from the White Mountains sat on a bench in the art gallery. He leaned back against a wall with his eyes closed.

"Um, aye."

"Of course!" she replied. "Blue goes _much_ better with blonde hair, but she said that blue goes with brown hair as well, but I didn't agree, _so_ then we started arguing until father said we could _both_ have blue and red dresses. That was _so_ kind of him, but then we had to decide what jewelry to wear, and some say that you should wear sapphires with blue and rubies with red, but I think that's _so_ unimaginative. It's much more unusual to wear rubies with blue for contrast, and sapphires with red, or diamonds for both. It really takes having an eye, much like the artworks here. Don't you agree, sire?"

"Um," he replied. He started snoring softly.

"That's just what I said! You _have_ to do something different to be noticed! Otherwise, we'd all look the same, and how can you make a _statement_ if you look like someone else. That's just _silly._ Now take this outfit. I decided to defy fashion and wear moon stones with pink. Others think only opals should go with pink, but when I walked in, they all stopped and stared. I had them thinking, "Ah, _moon stones_. I wouldn't have thought of _that,_" and that's what makes _me_ stand out. It's a talent, I think, to know how to keep a dwarf interested ..."

Later, Thorin walked in the mines with Lady Carba at her request. She was dark and wore plain, gray garb and, oddly, a monocle. She carried a book and a quill with a little pot of ink.

"So what is your monthly yield of iron ore?" she asked in a clipped tone while holding her quill to her book.

Thorin did a double take. The eye under the monocle didn't blink.

"Twenty cubic tons," he said easily. He looked over as she jotted down the figures in her book.

"Hmm, I see," she replied.

Thorin tried to look over her shoulder, but she caught him and held her book to her chest.

"So how do you see the role of queen at Erebor? What would be her duties and daily activities?"

Thorin stopped and stared agape.

"I, erm, I see the queen as being, uh, my partner in all matters concerning the health of the kingdom, of course."

She scribbled furiously in her book while he grew increasingly uneasy.

"Do you now? Fascinating. Now what do you think about early education for dwarflings and pensions for dwarves older than 250 years? And where do you stand on yearly raises in wages for dwarves of working age?"

Thorin stared at her as she dipped her nib in the ink.

"I, uh …"

"Really? Mmm, hmmm," she said as she flipped a page and kept writing.

Thorin stood a little taller in hopes of seeing what she was putting down.

"Why are you writing everything down?" he asked.

"Is it important for you to know?" she replied.

"Well ..." he started.

"Curious, quite curious." She turned another page, and without looking up, she asked "Are you now or have you ever been in favor of mining guilds?"

Thorin stared at her incredulous, and his mouth moved wordlessly.

"Indeed."

* * *

After four more appointments, Thorin slipped into a hot bath and readied himself for the feast. He had no time to go to the library, and he grew increasing nervous. What if he had sent the note? What if she took offense? He dipped his head back under the water and felt the weight of it pulling on his wavy strands. It was soothing, almost like fingers massaging his scalp and temples. Then he stepped out, toweled off, and donned another black outfit, only this time the collar was embroidered with gold.

He entered to hear a strange silence. All stood by their chairs waiting for him as usual, and he looked around suspiciously. Everyone conversed more quietly than usual, and some looked uncomfortable. The servers came forward and placed the food on the table, but a few pushed their empty plates away. Princess Onkra though sat unaffected and piled her plate high. Her habitual grunting, crunching, and lip smacking echoed in the subdued atmosphere.

"What's wrong, Fili?" his brother asked in amusement. "You look a bit flushed. Did you start drinking early?"

Fili shook his head and quietly scratched at his face.

"Something itches," he replied in a low voice.

Kili frowned. He opened his mouth to say something when he felt his throat begin to burn.

"Uh," he said wincing. "I didn't drink _that_ much last night."

All at once, someone shrieked, and all heads turned to see a dwarrowdam with spots on her face.

Balin and Dwalin gasped in horror and turned to glare at Fili and Kili who looked triumphant for all of a moment.

"Here we go, brother," Kili said hoarsely, but Fili said nothing. Kili turned to see him scratching furiously at bumps emerging on his face and neck.

"Durin's beard!" Kili cried, and then he started coughing hard. He grabbed his throat. "It burns!"

Thorin stood as pandemonium broke out and ordered for those affected to head to the healing rooms at once. He grabbed the arm of a sentry.

"Run ahead and tell Oin to carry out the quarantine and other measures."

Then he walked quickly down to his nephews.

"Come on, lads, let's get you help. I've heard that it'll pass in a week with no lasting damage if we get you treated right away."

Fili and Kili stared at each other as Thorin handed them off to guards who arrived to escort all who showed signs of the illness.

Some of the company also scratched and coughed, and Balin and Dwalin shook their heads ruefully.

"Young fools! Why didn't they wait?" Balin whispered.

Dwalin heaved a sigh.

"And why weren't they more careful?" he replied. "I don't think it was their plan to get themselves sick, nor Ori, Dori, and Bifur."

All left except Princess Onkra and her maid, who placed all the platters around her and handed her buns and biscuits on command.

Thorin rubbed the side of his face and headed to the sick rooms to make sure that Oin had everything under control, but he slowed as he passed the corridor that led to the library. He stopped, debated for a moment, and then headed down the hall.

The librarian simply bowed at the waist this time, and Thorin wandered among the books, trying to figure out where she might put a letter if she had written one. The librarian knew by now not to ask if he needed any help, but he wondered what the king was doing all the same.

_Tactics, tactics, but I looked in all the books on battle strategies, and nothing was there. What else could she mean?_

Then he smiled. This was not a battle, but a game, a game of strategy where one had an army lined up to face his opponents. He pulled out a slightly askew book on chess strategies and nodded in satisfaction. He slipped out the letter and went back to the chair in the furthest corner. Her familiar scent wafted from the note and, after inhaling deeply, he began to read.

_My Sovereign,_

_I was somewhat surprised by your slightly superior statement, although I suppose I should have seen such a summons coming sometime soon. So since I should send a sovereign's summons a speedy response, I say these few sentences to supply what you seek in sincere admiration of your slippery sleuth and sly dragon swindler._

_I am she who walks in shadows, seen by all and none, known and unknown, friend to the mighty, helper of broken hearts, sister and daughter, defender of the friendless, reader of books, lover of what grows wild, the Flame-rider, tale-teller, and Master Strategist (according to Your Majesty at least). _

_In sum, I am myself._

_I duly hope I didn't disappoint your desire to divine my identity. I do indeed discern a decision to discuss additional documentation at a later date, but I decided to disclose what definitely does describe me._

_After all, what does a name really mean? Isn't it the person behind the name who matters? I hope My Lord, doesn't think me impertinent for answering your request in such a way. However, you asked for it._

_Your So Far Secret Servant,_

Thorin snorted in frustration at her pert refusal of his command, but then he smiled at the quickness of her mind. She did answer him, so she wasn't guilty of disobedience—exactly—but the way she answered him! He chuckled softly and then started to laugh. She may not be the one, but he was determined to find out either way.

Meanwhile, Fili lay groaning in the bed next to his brother. Both had fevers now as did all the rest who fell ill.

"What did we do wrong?" Kili croaked out. "We took care not to let any of it touch us. And why did uncle say it would pass in a week? We had decided to say that the boils would last for almost a month. Isn't that what you told those guards?"

Fili turned his splotchy face toward his brother.

"I told them? I thought you were supposed to tell them."

Kili frowned through blurry eyes.

"Me? I didn't say anything. That was your job."

Fili let his head drop back on the pillow and chuckled painfully.

"I think, brother, that this time the joke is on us."

* * *

After all were settled under Oin's care and others complaining of symptoms were taken care of, Thorin met with the remaining members of the company in his private study. He laid out her letters, and all read her notes. Their eyes grew round at her first, and no one said a word. Then they nodded in sympathy at her second, admired the courage of her third, and laughed outright at her last.

"I want her found," Thorin said with an eager gleam in his eye, "and I need you all to help me."

He pulled out her pin, and Gloin stepped forward with his loupe.

"That was made here, I'll be bound," he said, and Balin nodded.

"Aye, it's from Erebor."

"Could she be a daughter of one of the lords here?" Nori asked.

Thorin considered that and frowned.

"Not likely. Whoever this is has knowledge of the noble dwarrowdams who came, and not many of our remaining families know the eligible women folk of the other clans."

Dwalin nodded. "True. Since the mountain was reclaimed, most have chosen to keep close by."

Balin disagreed.

"When we were at The Blue Mountains, many came to see how we fared," he said thoughtfully. "She said she knows royal protocol, so she could be one of our own."

Thorin's lips twisted, and he made a sound in his throat.

"No," he replied, "I think not. _No one_ I know here would write such a note."

"Could she be a servant then?" Bofur asked. "She could be attending the noble ladies and have listened in on gossip."

All stopped to think that through.

"Not likely," Balin answered, holding up the hair pin. "This is a master work and would have cost a pretty price. I don't see a servant owning such a treasure. Besides, this isn't new. The mark shows that it was made before Smaug."

"So how would someone outside Erebor get something like this?" Gloin asked. "The other clans have their own gemsmiths, so we would have sold them only the raw materials." Then his eyes flew open.

"Is the Registry of Master Works intact?"

Thorin looked over at Balin who nodded.

"Most of the records are."

Thorin made an eager noise.

"Gloin, I want you to find out who made that pin and who bought it," he said urgently. He tossed his head like he was struggling to hold back his excitement.

Nori looked over the pieces of paper again.

"She writes in medical terms in a number of places," he said almost to himself. The others crowded around.

"What are you saying?" Thorin demanded.

He shrugged.

"She could be a healer," he said matter-of-factly. "That's a respected profession that earns a good amount of gold, and she'd still be able to hear what goes on. A family of healers could afford a hair pin like that—especially if they once healed a lord."

All started clamoring at once.

Then he sniffed one of the notes.

"I've smelled this scent before," he said.

All conversation stopped.

"Where?" Thorin demanded.

All stared at Nori with wide eyes.

"In the apothecary where Oin mixes his medicines and tinctures with his new assistant," he replied, looking somewhat uncomfortable with all eyes on him. "She's been helping him experiment with new skin lotions."

Thorin inhaled sharply.

"She?"

* * *

**So the hunt is on! Please place your bets and review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Woo-hoo! Sudden inspiration aided by avoiding laundry resulted in a surprise chapter! Have fun, and let me hear from you!**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Thorin rose early the next morning, bathed thoroughly, and dressed with care. He abandoned his usual black on black garb and put on a royal blue tunic and breeches, a color that his mother said always brought out his eyes, and a black furred overcoat. His broad fingers twitched as he fiddled with a brush on his dresser. He didn't usually care or think to brush his hair. Pushing it out of his face after he woke up usually worked well enough. He laid his hand on the brush and felt the boar bristles prick. Then he caught his reflection in a small mirror on the table. He looked apprehensive and yet determined. His mouth was set in a thin line, and his brow hung heavy above his eyes. Deciding quickly, he brushed his hair in swift strokes and then held out his braids to make sure they weren't loose. He cleaned his teeth and rinsed his mouth with mint wash and then took a deep breath.

Feeling like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, Thorin struggled to reason his restlessness away.

_She's simply a dwarrowdam, nothing more, and I already have too many of them as it is. Besides, I am king._

Ending with that comforting thought, he thrust himself out the door and headed with firm steps down to the infirmary. First, he would check on his nephews. His steps slowed when he saw most of his company waiting at the door.

"So," Balin said as he bounced slightly with excitement, "we all thought we'd come and see for ourselves as well."

Thorin grimaced at the thought of meeting the mystery writer with the company grinning like idiots behind him. The mental picture he conjured was dismissed immediately.

"No," he replied, "first I want to check on the sick and Fili and Kili in particular. Then I will go to the apothecary while you all wait in the hallway. We don't want to alarm her unnecessarily. Then we will proceed with the day as planned."

"He means that he doesn't want us to scare her off," Nori whispered to Bofur who nodded.

"Aye, right he is. I'm very intimidating, you know," he replied out of the side of his mouth.

Nori shot him a disbelieving glance as they all trooped in.

"Now lie still, my lad," Oin said after Fili saw his uncle, pushed off his covers, and tried to sit up. "We don't want you to start shivering again. Your fever hasn't broken yet. Then he turned to Kili. "Now you let me lift your head and swallow—slowly now—aye, I know it burns, but it's not the medicine; it's just the inflammation in your throat. This will ease it. Ah, it spilled!" Turning his head he called out, "Nella, I need more of the syrup."

Thorin and all eyes of the company turned toward a dwarrowdam at the other end of the room. Her back was to them, but at Oin's call she stood up and reached for a bottle on a shelf. Her hair was a glorious and glossy fall of coal-black satin. It fell below her waist, and Thorin inhaled eagerly when she gracefully stretched for the bottle. His heart pounded against his ribs, and he felt slightly light-headed. He fingered the pin in his pocket and took one step closer.

_Nella. What a beautiful name._

He pressed one hand against his stomach, and the company drew breath when she turned around. She had the hair of a goddess and the face of … a ferret.

"Ugh," Nori said involuntarily.

Thorin stood momentarily disoriented. He had thought of the mystery writer constantly and had dreamed of her many possible appearances, but this face didn't figure in any of them. She had a low forehead, small eyes set close together, a long nose, and a serious over-bite. A quill poked out of her marvelous hair over one of her very large ears.

"Oh, Your Majesty," she said with a curtsy. Very crooked teeth made her words whistle slightly between her lips, and her tone was nasally as though she had a cold. "Are you ill as well? Does your stomach hurt?"

She gestured to his hand against his stomach, and he quickly dropped it. For a single moment, his world made no sense, and he had no words to answer her. Once feeling lighter than air, he now felt rooted in stone and just stood staring.

"Uh, no, lass. Nella, is it?" Balin asked as he came up beside Thorin. "We just, uh, found something that we thought might be yours." He elbowed Thorin who lurched slightly and blinked.

"Ah, yes," he said, recovering smoothly thanks to his long years of diplomatic training. He hoped with all his might that he was wrong. "We found this hair pin, and someone thought it might be yours." He drew the pin out of his pocket and held it up for her to see.

She stepped closer. He held it out to her while turning his face away slightly. She smiled.

"Ooo, that's even worse," Nori whispered. Balin stepped on his foot and pressed down hard.

"Beautiful, but no," she said. Her hands deftly examined the pin. "I don't care much for such baubles. Besides, I've no place to wear them since I'm mostly in here."

Oin stepped up and smiled at her proudly.

"Aye," he said, "a born healer and the best assistant I've ever had. We've experimented with different plants and wild flowers."

That last drew Thorin's attention, and he pulled out one of the notes and showed Nella the flower signature.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked intently. The company crowded closer.

She nodded. "Why, that's a sprig of honeysuckle," she said. "The nectar is very sweet, and some like to suck it out of the flowers in the summer. We're experimenting with its properties."

Walking back to the table, she picked up a small branch. All smelled its aroma before she held it out.

"The hair pin is a stylized re-creation, see," and she compared the pin to the branch.

Thorin's lips curved into a small smile. The pin was her signature.

"I thank you for your assistance, my lady."

She looked around confused.

"So none of you are sick?" she said in her nasally whistle.

"Well, some of us thought we might be for a moment," Nori said with a straight face.

"But we're better now," Bofur finished in a chipper tone.

Then they all turned and pushed each other out. Nori wrinkled his nose and mimicked a beaver before Dwalin whacked him on the arm.

"Don't tell me 'as delicate as the petals of a flower,' because, in this case, it doesn't apply!" Nori retorted while rubbing his elbow.

Thorin remained behind for a moment and held the branch to his nose. He wanted to remember that scent, _her_ scent. Then he joined the rest in the corridor.

"Well, it was a mercy that she wasn't the mystery writer," Bofur said.

Balin rebuked him with a glance but privately felt the same. He turned to see Thorin deep in thought.

"Disappointed, laddie?" he asked. Thorin pulled a face.

"More like relieved," he replied. The others chuckled.

"So who is she then?" Dwalin wondered. "We've hit a dead-end."

Thorin held up the pin. "Not quite."

Later that day, he met with more contenders. Some tittered at how romantic he seemed to be and thought themselves above the rest because he leaned in close at times, but no one carried the right scent. Drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair after yet another disappointing feast, he hit on an idea.

* * *

"I can see from the gleam in your eyes, you have a plan, Thorin," Balin said with an inquisitive look on his face.

"Aye," he replied. "Somehow she gets into the library after all have gone, but this time, I'll be waiting."

His friend chuckled merrily.

"I wish I could be there to see it, but I've never been known to be light on my feet!"

Later that night, while many still milled around and carried on the business of the kingdom, Thorin walked to the library and pushed open the door. He nodded. He didn't think it would be locked—or more likely, _could _be locked. He felt around and fingered the small, inset block of wood.

_Shrewd._

Sitting patiently for several hours, he reviewed nighttime hunting lessons that he learned in his youth and how to track prey in the dark. The floors were smooth, and he had brought his light leather boots with padded soles that were made for walking around his chambers at night. For some time, he watched the play of light through the stone latticework in the front of the library. Torches from the hallway outside made shifting patterns of lace on the floor. Several times though he had to breathe through his nose and out through his mouth to relieve his tension. It didn't help. Slightly after the clock struck two, he heard the door swing on its hinges. A slight rustle was followed by a waft of her now, familiar honeysuckle fragrance. He waited until she had reached the book. Moving slowly, he stood up, but the chair scraped the floor ever so slightly and she stopped. He could hear her sudden intake of breath.

"Surprised to find yourself with company tonight, my lady?" he almost purred in his deep, rich voice. By Mahal, the suspense was delicious, and he moved carefully to not give his place away. He hoped she couldn't hear the thudding of his heart as he approached the corner of the bookcase.

"I suppose I should have anticipated this move," came a low, husky voice. It sent shivers down his spine, and he grinned widely. "I believe I underestimated your curiosity, Your Highness."

He turned the corner, but she wasn't there. She also had changed positions while she talked. His lips tugged up on one side in a satisfied smirk. They were players of equal skill.

"Indeed, and now I want it satisfied," he rumbled with a chuckle.

She stopped and laughed in response, and it was a natural, joyful sound. He rounded another corner.

"I want to know who you are," he said bluntly.

She stopped, and he heard the swish of her gown on the floor.

"Why? What difference does it make to my lord? I promise I'm no spy, nor have I come to harm your people."

He paused and put one hand on the bookcase.

"I believe you, of course," he said sincerely. "I owe you a great debt of thanks, not only for myself but for those you helped."

She laughed again.

"You mean those I helped save from _you_, if I recall."

"Aye," he said, "and it's the truth."

He heard her voice come closer.

"You can't mean that."

"My lady," he started, "I've looked for you since your second note. Why won't you show yourself? Do you fear me?"

"No," she replied, "but there is danger for me here. I dare not, Your Highness."

His brow furrowed. He had reached his fill of political intrigue and malicious plots long ago, and it made him angry that such things were still happening under his nose.

_By Mahal, it won't be soon enough for all that to leave my mountain forever!_

Then a thought struck him.

"Are you one of those who was forced to come? Are you here against your will?"

She hesitated, and Thorin felt himself pulled toward her. He rounded another corner. Wherever she was, she had left the lighted area and was now in the back reaches of the large library. He supposed he could wait her out, but then he decided against it.

_She's not an animal to be flushed out._

"No, not precisely …."

He didn't understand, but he instinctively knew she was telling at least part of the truth. What danger could she face if he learned her identity? The honeysuckle scent grew stronger as he crept closer.

"Then why do you fear my knowing who you are?"

"I cannot tell you."

"I will protect you, my lady, as I did Meera. You have my word."

He paused and waited to hear her response. Surely, with him as her protector, she could reveal herself without fear.

"No one can protect me, my lord, no one, not even you."

They circled each other in the dark until, all at once, he sensed that she was somewhere in front of him. Slowly, very slowly, he noiselessly stepped forward and reached out his hand. His fingers touched a soft, rounded cheek before they sunk into a mass of long curls.

She gasped and whipped her head around, and he felt her curls sweep his sleeve. He reached out blindly and grabbed her arm, swinging her back toward him.

"I won't hurt you! I won't … hurt you."

She stopped and whimpered slightly, and he slowly pulled her closer.

"If I must do this," he started, "if I must choose one..."

She snorted, and he realized that it was her that he heard on that first day.

"'If you _must'_?" Her laugh turned bitter.

"Unhand me," she said sharply, and she pushed against him, "and consider this just a pleasant diversion and nothing more. I'll be gone soon, and we'll never see each other again."

He growled, and it rumbled in his chest.

"I've _never_ seen you though I've tried!" he cried. "Mahal knows I've tried."

She struggled against him, and he let her go.

"Please," he entreated with his heart in his voice, "please. I've no talent for this. I am a warrior and a king, but I've never needed to be ..." He threw his head back and stared up into the darkness, and the sinews of his neck tightened. "Wanted to be..."

"A lover?" she questioned harshly. She made a noise of disgust. "Then let me spare you the effort," and she took several steps back. He followed.

"What if ..." He hesitated. All his regret and pain over the past few weeks crystallized into only one possible conclusion. He smiled against the simplicity of it. "What if," he asked very softly as though to himself, "I don't want to be spared?"

She shifted suddenly in surprise, and he held out his arms to keep her from slipping around him.

With infinite care, he drew her close and held her in front of him. Breathing hard, he leaned forward and inhaled her fresh scent. Then, very slowly, like a whisper of wind, he ran one hand up her arm. He could sense her tenseness dissipating. Moaning lowly, he ran his hands up her arms and along her shoulders under her heavy length of hair. Using only the tips of his fingers, he touched her slim neck. She inhaled sharply but did not move. Then he felt up to her jaw and traced the outline of a delicate heart-shaped face. He smiled broadly, but she couldn't see it. His callused forefinger slipped down a straight nose and over soft lips. He flushed and wondered for a moment how much longer his legs would support him.

"Your mother," she said softly, and he heard her swallow, "your mother told me much about you."

He bent his head and leaned his forehead against hers. "When? Where?"

"I cannot tell you."

Suddenly, he felt her small hands on his arms. Her palms reached up and cupped his neck, and she ran nimble fingers over his face. She traced his brow and lightly touched his cheeks before pressing her fingers gently against his mouth. Without thinking, he kissed them.

Gasping, she pulled away, but he snaked one arm around her waist and cupped the back of her head with the other.

"Don't run from me," he pleaded. "You're the only one who's touched my heart. Which one are you? If you wish, I will choose you when the time comes."

He ran the back of his fingers down her face with uncharacteristic tenderness and felt wetness on her cheeks.

"Why these tears?" he asked, and he leaned forward and lightly kissed them off her cheek. He heard her sigh softly. Encouraged, he kissed down her cheek until he felt her lips. Moving his other hand to carefully cup her face, he brushed his lips against hers, tentatively at first. They were sweet, and he realized that she must have found the wild patches of flowers that grow on the lower slopes.

"You are a blossom," he whispered against her mouth, "and I have never tasted such honey before now."

Then his heart roared in his chest as he kissed her with increasing urgency. He wrapped one arm around her lower back and tugged her against him. Slowly, he felt her reach up and tangle her hands in his hair. Tingles raced up his neck, and a wave of exhilaration crashed through him. Finally, they broke apart, both breathing heavily.

"Let me know who you are, so I can choose you," he almost begged. "I will end this now and keep you safe until we're wed."

Pushing back suddenly, she broke free of his embrace.

"I wish ..." She started sobbing. "I can't!"

With both arms, she pulled books off the shelves, heavy books that fell on and around him. He stumbled and cried out while she dashed for the exit.

"Pain will come if I'm found out," she said weeping as she stood silhouetted in the door.

Thorin saw her lovely profile and figure. Something was in her hand, but he couldn't make out what it was. Then she was gone, and he was alone … again.

* * *

**So what do you think? Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Wow! What an amazing response to the last chapter! Thank you all for your reviews and clever guesses. A big shout-out to guest reviewers Skywolf42 (many thanks for your multi-story support), Amanda, Leoni, Aranel Mereneth, Guest, dearreader, and DD. I hope I didn't forget anyone. I can't thank you individually, so I'll thank you here. This chapter is a bit different, but it's necessary for now. Oh, and I MUST thank my husband, Eric, for the intro. **

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Balin hurried down the hall to Thorin's study, which adjoined his private chambers. He had slept soundly in anticipation of a satisfying answer to the mystery writer's identity in the morning. Thorin's prowess as a warrior was matched by his skill as a hunter, and Balin had no doubt that if the lady went to the library last night, Thorin would catch her.

Dwalin followed behind more slowly. Affairs of the heart made him uncomfortable. He had argued with his brother who pushed him to slurp down his eggs and shovel in his bacon and sausages. The tattooed warrior never rushed through his meals without a good reason—and this wasn't one of them.

"I don't see why we can't just leave him be," he groused. "You're acting like mother used to."

Their mother, the venerable Lady Fundin, never missed an opportunity to grill her sons after their ax lessons.

"Now what happened after your opponent tried to behead you, dear?" she would ask eagerly with her hands cupped around a steaming mug of tea and plates of fresh biscuits in front of her mud- and blood-splattered children.

Dwalin rolled his eyes at the memory.

"Brother, our good king deserves his privacy," he called down the hall to where Balin already stood at the door. Balin waved his hand behind him to shush his brother.

"Keep your voice down," he said in a loud whisper. "Not everyone rises as early as he does." Then he knocked lightly on the door.

"Enter!" Thorin's strong voice answered.

They opened the door to see his desk covered in parchment and maps. Thorin was busy sketching out something around the lower slopes of a geographical survey of the mountain, and Balin peered over to see maps to the mines poking out from underneath. Dwalin folded his arms and held his tongue. Balin didn't.

"Thorin," he asked while waving his arms around at the scattered pile, "what is all this?"

Their king looked up with a quill in his hand, his eyes feverishly bright and focused.

"We need a wall around the lower slopes, Balin," he said, and he flicked the end of his quill at a sketch of a massive wall encircling the entire mountain. "We're not secure enough as we are."

Balin tossed a confused glance to Dwalin who shrugged and said nothing.

"A wall around the _whole_ mountain?" he asked. "Why the mountain itself is a fortress!"

Thorin shook his head emphatically and tapped his finger on the map.

"No," he said firmly, "Smaug breached our gates with ease, so we need to strengthen our defenses."

Balin put his hands on his hips. He was completely flummoxed. Looking around at all Thorin had done, he realized that his liege must not have slept at all last night.

"Laddie," he asked gently, "what about the mystery writer? Did you find her?"

Thorin simply flapped his hand as though shooing away a fly.

"Now if we use the rubble we took out from the new mine," he continued, "we can begin at once, starting 500 paces from the lowest slope. That would give us room for both offensive and defensive weaponry."

"Thorin," Balin tried again, "what about the mystery writer?"

Even Dwalin leaned a little closer this time.

"I want ironworks diverted to make catapults," he replied, "and I want our chemists to make enough flash fire to stock the perimeter."

"Did you find our mystery writer?" Balin persisted. Thorin cleared his throat.

"The wall will have slits where archers can shoot without being exposed," he said a little more loudly.

"WHAT ABOUT _YOUR_ MYSTERY WRITER?" Balin asked in a slow, clear voice.

"Work must begin immediately because we're _vulnerable!_" Thorin shouted, and he pounded his fist hard on the desk, tipping over his inkwell. Smaug's long, coiled body with glittering, sliver scales fell on one side, and ink poured out of his gaping, fanged mouth like flames. The three dwarves watched silently while trickles of ink breached Thorin's wall and invaded the mountain.

"You forgot to account for how to bridge the water mains and keep our defensive integrity," Balin said quietly, and he pointed out several strategic weaknesses.

Thorin looked down at his ruined creation and gritted his teeth.

"I stayed up all night working on this," he said between his teeth while his fists clenched, and his eyes roved over the map. "I went _over_ and _over_ it. _Over_ and _over._ _All_ night!"

Then his voice broke, and he pushed the heels of his hands on his eyes.

"I couldn't think of _anything_ else, and I _still_ don't understand!"

He fell back in his throne-like chair, and locks of his hair obscured his face. Dwalin looked at his brother with alarm, but Balin quietly pulled another chair forward and leaned toward his friend.

"Why don't you tell us what happened, laddie?" he asked very gently.

"What difference does it make?" he answered morosely. "She ran out the door sobbing."

Both his friends took a deep breath, and Dwalin leaned back against a wall.

"Tell us anyway," Balin coaxed.

With a heavy sigh, Thorin haltingly began recounting what had happened. At first both brothers grinned, but they turned serious when Thorin described their confrontation.

"It was like being in a dream," he said wistfully. "I couldn't see her, but she let me touch her face."

He turned to his friends with imploring eyes. "She's beautiful, Balin, absolutely beautiful in every way."

Dwalin stifled a snort. To him, this sounded a bit far-fetched. The Thorin he knew was too smart to buy an ax in the dark.

Balin glared at his brother and made a noise in the back of his throat. Then he turned back.

"Go on, laddie," he said softly.

"Then I kissed her."

Balin's eyebrows flew to his hairline.

"You did _what?_" he asked, all gentleness gone.

"I kissed her," Thorin repeated, his voice sounding far away, "and … she kissed me back."

He ran his hands through his hair.

"I don't know why I did it," he said soberly. "I know I went too far, but I had already told her that I would choose her when the time came."

Now Dwalin's brows matched his brother's.

"Then what happened?" he asked from his place against the wall.

"She hesitated," Thorin replied. "I think she wanted … ah, I don't know _what_ she wanted, but she said she couldn't and ran out the door crying."

Then the three fell silent. Balin crooked his finger and rubbed the bridge of his nose while he thought.

"Tell me again _exactly_ what she said.

Thorin flinched and shook his head with his eyes closed, trying to remember.

"She said, 'I wish,' and then 'I can't.'"

He struggled to think through his fog.

"She said that 'pain would come' if she was found out."

Dwalin let out a low whistle.

Balin tilted his head and appraised his king. It was obvious to him that if Thorin wasn't so deep in his own confusion and sorrow, his usually clever companion would have guessed the answer immediately.

"So you thought she was one of our noble dwarrowdams, didn't you?" he asked calmly.

Thorin looked up immediately, and his eyes finally cleared.

"Nori was right after all," Dwalin said, "but she isn't one of _our_ healers or servants."

Thorin braced his hands on his knees. The fog lifted, and the situation at last made sense. Whoever she was, she was a healer or servant to one of the other clans, which was why she concealed herself. She wasn't playing the game by the same rules that he was. He remembered her soft skin and delicate face. He didn't really know what she looked like, but he was charmed by what he did discover. A relieved smile broke through. Even before he met her, he was captivated by her intelligence and spirit.

"So that's that then," Dwalin said. "Mystery solved."

Thorin's brows pinched together. His friends watched emotions wash over his face. Balin's lips started to twitch, but Dwalin looked dismayed.

"You aren't thinking of going _after_ her, are you?" he asked. "The other clans will be outraged, Thorin, and we're still licking our wounds from the last war. You must marry a _noble_ dwarrowdam. What you're thinking is _daft!_"

Thorin put his fingers to his lips and stroked them just the way she did while he sat lost in thought. Finally, he stood with a fierce light in his eyes.

"Aye, it is, my friend, but I am anyway."

* * *

Gathering the rest of the company together, Thorin told them that the mystery writer was attached to one of the clans and to start looking among their healers and maids.

"She has long, curly hair," he said, "and a heart-shaped face."

"How old do you think she is?" Bofur asked.

Thorin pursed his lips.

"She was old enough to recall my mother clearly," he said while looking up and trying to calculate an age. "I'd put her at about 10 to 15 years older than Fili."

They all nodded.

"So she and Queen Relia must have met while we were traveling on to the Blue Mountains," Balin said. "We did have a number of traveling healers come through as well as visits from other clans with help and supplies."

Thorin nodded.

"Make _discreet_ inquiries," he warned. "She's quick-witted, not to mention that some dwarrowdams don't treat their servants very well. She said that pain would come if she was found out, and I don't want her put in harm's way."

A guard came to his door and bowed.

"Two messages for you, my lord."

Thorin held out his hand and broke the seal of the more official-looking document. He read it quickly and smirked.

"Well," he said, "it was a wise decision to send our own guards with Meera. Modral tried to exact revenge one night, but our own fought him off and tied him up. Just so happens that his brother was on a trade mission close by. Meera and her sisters will now be cared for by their uncle. Oh, and he sends his thanks for our generosity. Hmmm, this is interesting. He's offered to share in return some unclassified gemstone deposits. Stones that change color depending on the light."

"And Modral?" Balin asked.

Thorin chuckled.

"Lord Midral said that he's put his brother to work in his mines for a time, although he offered to send him here if I wish."

He raised his brows, but Balin shook his head.

"Let him be someone else's problem," he said. "He'll live longer there. Our new mine is a temperamental lass, although she hasn't claimed any lives yet."

Thorin exhaled.

"I'm almost of a mind to close it. Lother is certain that he saw a wide seam of gold, but he didn't have good light. I'm not so sure."

He opened the other message and pulled a face.

"Princess Onkra requests my presence _urgently._"

Nori sniggered. "Did Dolor die then?"

They all laughed heartily. Thorin pocketed the note.

"Make an excuse to come and get me after 10 minutes," he said. Then he paused. "No, after five."

The others laughed and nodded. All of them felt relieved that no summons had come for them.

* * *

Meanwhile, Princess Onkra sat like an immovable mound around her entourage and barked orders.

"These buns are stale!" she shouted at her maid. "Get me fresh ones _now!_"

The maid threw the door open and almost ran into Thorin. She curtsied hastily while he inclined his head and took a deep breath. No scent. Then he turned around and watched dozens of veiled maids and servants running errands. He sighed. Finding her among so many and in so little time wasn't going to be easy.

"You asked to see me, my lady?" he inquired once he turned back to her.

Her gaze flickered up and down, taking him in and, for a moment, he thought he saw a gleam in those almost-closed eyes.

"I wish to thank you, my lord," she said in her breathy tone, "for the help of Dolor during my stay here. He's been most accommodating. My health is delicate, and I have so many needs, but he never once complained."

Thorin nodded.

"I am pleased that he's been of service."

_Most pleased indeed._

Onkra pulled apart a sticky bun, picked out the moist middle, and discarded the rest, dropping it into a large basin where the outer layers of dozens of other sticky buns rested in peace. Thorin almost scoffed at her squandering good food, but he bit his lip and with effort kept his expression neutral. Even though his kingdom was wealthy enough to more than meet the needs of everyone, he had lived too long in poverty to tolerate waste.

"Well, now, on to other matters," she said with a simper. "There is something I wish to discuss that's of vital importance, my lord. Perhaps I should start at the beginning …"

A loud bell interrupted her, and all sound in the mountain stopped. He immediately held out his hand to silence her and turned away, listening intently. She eyed him with a menacing glare, but he didn't see it. Another bell sounded, and Thorin turned with a quick "I must go." He flew across the hall and down the stairs as fast as he could. Dwalin met him on a lower level, and both raced to the new mine. Bifur was already there, waving his arms and shouting in Khuzdul. Miners hurried and stumbled through a thick cloud of dust and dirt and out of the mine. A loud rumble sounded behind them.

A dwarf with blood streaming down his temple ran up.

"He went in there with his team without orders, my lord," he said. "We didn't know anyone was in there before we went to work. Then we heard shouts."

Thorin shrugged off his overcoat and made for the mine, but Dwalin and Bifur held him back.

"You can't risk it!" Dwalin shouted above the din. "In there is not your place. You're king now."

Thorin strained against them for a moment but then looked down and nodded. They let him go, and he held up his hands in agreement. He strode over quickly to the foreman in charge.

"How many are still in there?" he asked urgently.

"At least 12, my lord," he answered, "but we dare not go in until we secure the mine."

Thorin nodded and went to the opening. Dwarves carrying shovels, picks, and beams to brace the ceiling trotted up and started working together like the gears of a fine watch. Thorin walked up to them, motioned with his head for a dwarf to move over, and joined their team. After a moment, Dwalin and Bifur stepped up and started carrying more beams toward the mine.

Working together, they braced the mine entrance first. Then they worked further in, and Thorin sent runners to make sure that Oin was prepared to receive wounded. Then he walked into the mine as far back as was safe.

"We will get you out!" he shouted.

* * *

Oin and Nella heard the bells as well and shot each other a knowing look.

"Everyone must leave at once or lend a hand," he said to his patients who remained.

Fili and Kili jumped to their feet. They were on the mend, as were the rest of the others. Most now only complained of a scratchy throat or the itching of scabs. However, as far as Oin was concerned, the quarantine was over since those close to death might be coming in.

"How can we help?" Fili asked. Kili nodded behind him.

"Good lads," he replied. "Report to Nella while I prepare the medicines."

They walked up to Nella who glanced up from sorting supplies, and she huffed.

"What do you want now?" she asked with annoyed amusement. "I see you already went through Oin's tray of tinctures. Tell me, which one did you pick?"

Since their illness, the brothers had developed the highest respect for Nella and her skills. They watched with amazement as she easily tended an entire ward and made sure that everyone had what they needed. Standing and fidgeting like guilty dwarflings, they sheepishly pointed to a bottle. She snorted.

"And just _exactly_ what did you expect witch hazel to do?" she asked.

"Cause boils?" Kili answered doubtfully. "We put it on their doorknobs and brushes—anything we thought they might touch."

She cackled with laughter.

"Instead you _disinfected_ everything, which probably accounts for why none of them got sick," she replied with her arms crossed.

The brothers winced, and she turned serious.

"Now we get down to business," she said. "Pull all the linens off the mattresses and pillows and then flip all the mattresses over. We don't have the time to clean them now. All beds need fresh linens, and we need to get the bandages and splints ready."

A number of dwarrowdams crowded around her. Despite their status, they knew that anyone and everyone was expected to help in any way they could when tragedy struck. Nella nodded approvingly.

"You boil water," she ordered, directing two to the kitchen, "and you four make sure we have enough clean bandages. We need at least 500 and all about four inches wide. Rip more from that bolt of linen if we don't. You three use the witch hazel or strong alcohol to clean the needles and knives. Oin is mixing more medicine just in case, so we need to take care of the preparation."

Soon enough, stretchers came one after the other through the door. Oin bustled in with plenty of sedatives, ointments for burns, and medicine to clean and disinfect wounds. Fili and Kili, with Nella's help, readied all the beds.

"Put them here," Oin ordered, and he directed the dwarves to put those most injured closest to the supplies. Thorin came in beside the last stretcher. The dwarf on it moaned in pain, and his eyes were glassy. Nella went to him at once, and the dwarves laid him on a bed. He shook with pain and shock.

"Oin," she called out, and he trotted over. Lother kept trying to open his eyes.

"My lord," he rasped.

Thorin hushed him. "Let them take care of you."

He glanced at Nella and Oin. They had both checked his injuries, and their faces were grave. Oin cleared his throat, but Thorin waved his hand and shook his head. Immediately, Nella pulled up a chair, leaned in close, and started talking quietly to Lother.

"We're going to take good care of you," she said softly. "Tell me about your favorite memory."

Lother grimaced and tried to smile while Thorin looked on with astonishment. Her face had softened, and a gentle glow made her eyes shine. She would never be beautiful or even attractive to most, but her spirit was noble and gracious, and he felt ashamed for ridiculing her. He watched while Lother painfully but eagerly recounted a time when he and his family had a picnic outside the Blue Mountains in the spring many years ago. Thorin knew that they all had died from a devastating influenza a year later.

"I wanted," Lother rasped, "I-I wanted to find s-some r-reason to live again." Then his body went rigid, and blood bubbled on his lower lip. She carefully wiped his mouth with a soft cloth. His eyes fell on his king, and he struggled to open his bloody hand. Thorin reached over and gently pried it open. It held three small rocks.

"G-gold, my lord," he rasped with a bright light in his eyes. "I was r-right, wasn't I? I was r-right."

Thorin took the chunks of worthless fool's gold out of his palm, smiled, and laid his hand carefully on Lother's shoulder.

"Aye," he said approvingly, "you were right all along. Well done, Lother, well done."

The dying dwarf smiled and breathed a last, satisfied breath. A tear trickled down Nella's cheek, and Thorin silently handed her one of his handkerchiefs. She was startled, but he nodded and smiled, and she wiped her eyes.

"There are more I need to tend to," she said hastily and pushed off her chair.

He stood with her and put one hand on her shoulder.

"I am grateful that you made his last moments worthwhile, Nella," he said softly. "You have my thanks."

She looked up with tear tracks on her cheeks and fierce devotion in her eyes.

"They are my people, my lord. I love them, and I'd do _anything_ to keep them safe and well."

After regarding her for a moment, he silently took her hand, bowed low over it, and kissed it. She gasped and quickly looked around the room to see if others had noticed.

"Then we are kindred spirits, my lady," he said, still holding her hand between both of his, "for that is exactly how I feel."

Then she curtsied and hurried off, and he surveyed the room, which buzzed with activity.

_And that applies to others of noble heart who have come into my mountain._

* * *

**Please review, my friends, and I would love to hear from more readers out there. There are plenty of you, so join the party!**


	12. Chapter 12

**OK, ladies and gents, here she is! Time to do the Happy Dance! Thank you for your lovely reviews, and many thanks to those who signed up since the last chapter. It's been great to meet you.**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

The rest of that terrible day, Thorin worked with the mine foreman to draw up plans to close the new mine safely. He also needed to meet with Lother's family at once and the families of other dwarves under Oin's care as soon as possible. His schedule with the dwarrowdams was cancelled, but most understood that he had urgent business to take care of. Princess Onkra did not.

"My lord," Dolor said panting, "I have another message from Princess Onkra. She says it's most urgent."

"By Erebor," Thorin thundered, "tell her that a dwarf died today, and many more are injured! My place is with them and their families, not her!"

She had tried and lost his patience. She was supposed to meet with him before the evening feast, but events dictated otherwise. Thorin was sorry for the cause but relieved at the result.

"I've had three 'requests' from her today already," he growled in the sweating councilor's face. "If I go up there, it will be to have her thrown in the dungeon for obstructing kingdom business. Get Lord Dain and have him deal with her."

Dolor nodded, for once in full agreement with his king. He left in a hurry, and Balin stepped up.

"I have Lother's sister and her children waiting for you in the throne room," he said gently. "He took them in after her husband died at Azanulbizar."

Thorin knitted his brows.

"No," he replied while stroking his mustache absent-mindedly, "no, have them taken to my private study instead."

Balin looked surprised but bobbed his head.

"We've not lost one in the mines since we've been back, Balin," Thorin said. "I don't want to meet his kin so coldly."

Balin grinned and, with a twinkle in his eye, turned to leave.

"Wait!" Thorin cried, and he reached into his jerkin and pulled out a letter. "Deliver this after everyone is abed."

Balin hefted it smugly.

"I see that the day's events haven't slowed your pursuit, laddie."

Thorin smiled at his friend's observation.

"I want to draw her out into the open," he replied. "I believe my letter states my intentions clearly, so she should have no objections now."

It was Balin's turn to frown. Thorin's sensitivity as king clearly didn't translate to his new role of suitor.

"Did you …" he started carefully, "did you tell her how you feel, lad? She needs more than intentions."

Thorin arched one brow and took a lofty stance.

"I made my wishes known and that's enough," he said confidently. "However, if you feel that including a gem would be helpful, by all means do so."

Then he nodded at the letter and turned on his heel, leaving Balin shaking his head.

_She won't take this well._

Nevertheless, he headed to the library while Thorin walked quickly to his study. The secretary of the treasury met him there at his request. A few minutes later, one of his new, personal guards announced Lother's remaining family. A dwarrowdam with red-rimmed eyes was ushered in with a young dwarf and delicate dwarrowdam. The daughter had her arms about her mother's shoulders while the son stood next to them.

"I'm sorry for your terrible loss," Thorin said kindly. He stood in back of his desk and walked around the front. "We could not send for you in time."

Sophrin, Lother's sister, blinked rapidly, and tears ran down her face.

"Did he die well, my lord?" she asked tremulously. "Did he die … happy?"

Thorin nodded, relieved that he could honestly say yes.

"Aye, he did," he answered. "Thanks to Nella, Oin's assistant, Lother thought of his last family picnic in the Blue Mountains and died with a smile on his face."

"Did he find the gold he was looking for, my lord?" asked Lif, her son. He watched Thorin carefully.

"Aye," the king replied after the slightest of hesitations. However, it was enough for Lif to inhale sharply and close his eyes. Then he faced Thorin squarely.

"Thank you, my lord, for having such faith in him," he replied firmly.

Thorin inclined his head. Then Lif's eyes flashed to his mother, and Thorin pushed forward a small, ornate box.

"He was holding these when he came out," he said.

Sophrin lifted the lid and gasped at three chunks of gold. She lifted them reverently and turned to her daughter. The two hugged each other and clasped the nuggets to their chests.

"So his death wasn't in vain?" she asked.

"No," Thorin replied, "but the mine is unstable, and I've ordered it closed. As valuable as it may be, it's not worth another life."

She hesitated and then nodded. No other family should face what she did, and she knew it. Reaching back on his desk, Thorin picked up a document with his bold signature across the bottom.

"This order gives you and your family income enough to last you the rest of your lives," he said. "The secretary here will see to your needs."

Meanwhile, Balin walked into the library, placed the note, and left as quickly as he could. He was sure that the mystery writer would scorn Thorin's haughty approach, and he exhaled in frustration. Her first rejection hit Thorin hard, and he retreated into his role of king to protect his wounded heart. Balin shook his head and laughed to himself that his friend needed the set down, even though it wasn't personal. Most dwarrowdams, noble or not, were overawed by Erebor and its king and were more than willing to demean themselves to be queen. However, he was sure that the mystery writer was a fair match for his king. She had already proved that with her courage and daring. He couldn't wait to meet her.

* * *

Down in the infirmary, Nella moved smoothly among her patients who tried to smile as she passed.

"There now," she said to one dwarf who lay askew on the bed, "you look very uncomfortable. Why don't we give you a boost, so you can get more rest?"

He gave a jerky bob of his head. His arm and leg were broken, and sweat beaded on his brow.

"My thanks, my lady," he rasped.

She called out to Kili, who trotted over and, together, they slowly tugged on the sheet underneath the dwarf to pull him up so that his head rested on his pillow. Then she grabbed a tin cup of water and added a sedative.

"Here you go," she said softly while supporting the his head. He sipped the water gratefully and sank back.

"May Mahal bless you, lass," he croaked.

She watched until his eyes closed, and then moved to another cot. The dwarf's head was swathed in gauze, and clotting blood caked the side of his head and dribbled into his ear. He had just fallen asleep, and she shook him.

"Stay awake, do you hear?" she urged. "You need to stay awake."

His eyes stayed closed, so she patted his cheeks. After getting no response, she slapped his face, and he jerked awake. She exhaled in relief.

"You _must_ stay awake!" she implored. "Don't fall asleep! Whatever you do, don't fall _asleep!_"

She turned to see Fili standing behind her. She jumped, and her hand flew to her throat. He put his hand on her shoulder and nodded at the bed.

"I'll stay with him," he said. "You go and help the others." "Now off with you," he added when she didn't move. He pulled up a chair beside the bed.

"Now, Coldar," he said with his most charming smile, "how would you like to hear about our quest and the death of Smaug?"

* * *

Thorin strode to the library the next morning with great expectations. He rolled his shoulders to release his excitement as he rounded the corner of the tall, cherry bookcase. The book beckoned him closer, and he eagerly opened its cover and saw—nothing. His note was gone, but nothing was in its place. He put the book back in a daze.

_Perhaps she was kept away by today's events. Aye, that must be it. _

Balin waited for him outside the door.

"No note?" he asked after seeing the look on Thorin's face.

The king shook his head and took a deep breath.

"Aye, but I'm sure the events of today kept her from coming," he said with the hearty confidence of those who doubt their words.

"Ah, well," Balin replied without surprise, "perhaps another note saying how you feel about her might help matters along. Think on it, laddie. You're king, and that's an overwhelming prospect for some. She needs your regard even more than your promises."

Thorin pulled a face.

"What I'm offering is an honor beyond anything she could hope for," he scoffed, "and I said enough the night we met."

Balin put his hands on his hips and lifted a bushy brow.

"Did you tell her you loved her?" he asked squarely.

Thorin's lips pressed together, and the lines of his face hardened.

"Is that necessary?" he asked while looking down his nose.

Balin's mouth fell open, and he spluttered and stammered, but no words came out. Putting his clenched fists on his hips, he tried to calm himself, but his stocky body shook with anger. Finally, his found his voice.

"I'd ask if you were joking, but unfortunately, I know you're not," he said sternly.

"Watch your tone," Thorin warned.

Instead, Balin huffed in exasperation. Thorin reared back in surprise.

"I won't," his advisor said with a snort. His nose wrinkled in disgust. "You might as well pick The Oinker and be done with it because you're going to ruin _any_ chance you have of winning the lass. How _dare_ you treat her like a trollop with a gem for her favors! Now don't look so surprised. I'll bet on my mother's tomb that she didn't answer because you acted like an _arse!_"

Then he turned and marched out the door with his head held high like a parade followed behind him. Thorin watched him go while his anger rose from flame to inferno. He swept down the hall with pounding steps and barked at his sentries to bring the families of those injured to the throne room. He was king. What he did was right because he said so, and that was all that mattered.

However, after several days of silence, he finally reconsidered his position. He had sent out members of the company to find her but to no avail. In fact, none of the company had anything to report except the Ri brothers.

"None of ladies-in-waiting know about her, my lord," Nori said.

"Is that all?" Thorin asked disdainfully.

Ori nervously mentioned that plots and intrigues among the dwarrowdams to sabotage each other's chances were disturbing. He hesitated, and Thorin flicked his hand impatiently. The young dwarf took a deep breath, but Dori stepped up and spoke for him.

"There's talk," he began, "and maybe it's rubbish, but there are rumors about someone asking what kind of poisons we stock."

Thorin inhaled sharply between his teeth. That news crossed the line.

"Do you know who?" he asked. The Ri brothers shook their heads, and all fell silent.

"I want a name," Thorin said as he fixed his eyes on each of them. They nodded and hurried out of the room.

Then he threw himself in his chair behind his desk and picked up a quill. Thirty minutes later, he was still rolling it between his thumb and fingers. Dare he put his feelings on paper? What if she rejected him again, Durin forbid? Then he remembered her saying that his mother told her much about him. Had she perhaps felt some tenderness for him all those years? A wave of heat rushed through him when he thought of her sweet breath and soft kisses. He stroked his tingling lips.

_Ah, I'm acting like a love-struck dwarrow!_

That thought shocked him. He _couldn't_ be in love. Admiration and attraction, obviously, but … love? Sighing wearily, he ran one hand over his head. He felt so much that night, but her leaving the way she did both hurt and embarrassed him. Then Balin's words floated back into his mind. They caught him by surprise, but he couldn't deny that they were right. He never wanted a marriage of convenience or political necessity, yet he treated her no better than those noble dwarrowdams he despised. The very thought curdled his stomach.

Crying out in frustration, he threw the quill on his desk and pushed the parchment away. Then he caught sight of his silver Smaug. The dragon's open mouth laughed at him. His annoyance grew as he stared at the small replica. Picking up his quill, he took out his knife and cut the point. He shoved it down deep in Smaug's throat as though he was trying to choke his metal nemesis.

With swift strokes, he wrote without hesitation, but the words flowed more easily than he expected. Then he took out a stick of sealing wax, melted it over a flame, and dripped it on the folded note. He stood and pressed the seal down to the parchment. The House of Durin crest stood out proudly.

Late that night, he placed the note inside the book cover, but his hand lingered on the spine. Part of him wanted to rip the note out and burn it. He struggled to pull his hand away but then took the book back out. Breathing hard, he held it to his chest while he thought through every possible response. Finally exhaling slowly, he pushed the book back into the stacks and walked away, resolved to accept whatever came. He slept badly and woke with a pounding headache.

Fortifying himself with several mugs of ale, he hurried to the library with his heart in his mouth. It was too soon to expect a response, but he couldn't wait. Stilling the urge to wipe his hands on his breeches, he flipped the cover open to find a note. His heart lurched, and he opened the note slowly and let out his breath through his mouth.

_Meet me tomorrow midday on the lower slopes by the honeysuckle hedges._

Miraculously, his headache had disappeared.

The day seemed to drag on interminably with endless meetings and tedious social calls, although visits to see the injured dwarves were heartening. All of them would survive, thanks to Nella and Oin. With great effort, he even managed to avoid more 'requests' from Princess Onkra.

Awake before dawn, he paced until the sun rose and then called attendants to lay out his new wardrobe. This time he took even greater care of his appearance and wore a silver-embroidered tunic, mithril-studded jerkin, and a black leather surcoat trimmed with silver fox. The gleaming silver threads accentuated the streaks in his hair. He looked regal, every inch a king. He had his boots cleaned and polished, his beard trimmed, and his hair washed and oiled with clove essence until it shone. He felt invigorated yet anxious, although he'd rather die by an orc's scabby hand than admit it.

The company gathered around him in excited anticipation.

"I bet she's a raven-haired beauty with blue eyes," Bofur said.

Thorin's nephews shook their heads.

"She's got brown eyes, large and soft like a doe's," Fili said dreamily. His uncle shot him a disapproving look.

"And hair like molten gold," Kili added enthusiastically.

Dwalin frowned.

"It's curly, lad," he said.

Thorin put up his hands to still their eager chattering.

"I don't want to scare her off, but I also don't want anyone seeing us together," he said firmly, "so we need a reason to leave the mountain."

"I'll get my axes," Dwalin said nodding at Fili and Kili. "These two have missed too many training sessions."

Then he inspected the others with a critical eye.

"Aye, and a few of you are looking soft as well."

"Agreed," Thorin said.

Gathering their weapons and other gear, Thorin and the company started out for the lower slopes a little more than a mile away. The sun shone warmly on them, and the heat of the late spring day sent the spicy perfume of various flowers drifting through the air. The sky was dotted with large, scalloped clouds with a hint of something more threatening on the far horizon. For the moment though, all was vibrantly green and blue with splashes of red, pink, orange, and yellow.

As they walked closer toward the last rocky hills, they heard voices on the flat, grassy plain beyond. That area served as a training ground for dwarves who practiced on the uneven terrain. Fighters would start on the grass and then battle over the rocks and in and around the tall honeysuckle and yew hedges. A large stand of pine trees was perfect for setting ambushes.

They turned the corner to see all the noble dwarrowdams, family members, and entourages lounging and eating. Spits with shoats and lambs rotating slowly stood at one end of the merry gathering while fabric-covered tables bowed under the weight of carved roasts, platters of spring greens, various cold salads, bread puddings, sauced vegetables, and various sweetmeats. Kegs of ale and wine kept cool under the pine trees. Balin started laughing while Thorin stared in dismay.

"What a lass!" he said, and he chuckled until he wiped a tear away. "She's one upped you again, laddie. Good luck and may Mahal be merciful today!"

Thorin couldn't fathom how she did it and what she meant by it. Was she to hide among the others and say she kept her promise? He soon realized though that this was the only way she could meet him and escape notice. Someone would see a single servant venturing out of the gates for no clear reason, but no one would question an event when all were invited.

"How did she do it?" he asked both impressed and annoyed. "I gave no such order."

Balin grinned.

"She's a formidable strategist."

"Aye," Thorin replied resolutely, "but now I need to make my move and capture my queen."

Before he could, however, Princess Onkra waved him over. She looked like a small hill in a brown velvet dress, and he shuddered inwardly.

"My lord," she whined as prettily as she could manage, "I hope you're here to give me my time today. I've been looking forward to your company all week and have a fascinating story to tell."

He groaned softly and took in her appearance. She looked too much like a pile of—he wouldn't let his mind form the word—and he walked over reluctantly.

"Princess Onkra," he said with a bow, "I hope you're enjoying yourself. I'm sure you understand that the tragedy down in the mine took up much of my time."

She tilted her head and gazed at him. Straining to open her eyes wider, she said nothing while seemingly pondering the truth behind his words. He caught a flash of the peridot green that she inherited from her father.

"Well, I hope that all is settled so we can spend the afternoon together—cousin," she said, and she held out her hand.

He ignored her intimate reference. Closing his canine tooth on his bottom lip, he took her fat and beringed hand to place the merest of kisses on it. She frowned, and her folds sagged slightly.

"With everyone here," he said smoothly, "it would be inappropriate for me to spend all my time with you. My regrets, princess."

He turned to see the small crowd gathering behind him.

"As you see," he said gesturing. He tried to hide his satisfaction, but the light in his eyes gave him away.

She tried to smile.

"Of course," she said flatly. "We'll just have to make _other_ arrangements then."

He turned back at her tone. It sounded slightly threatening, but by then she was picking honeysuckle blossoms off their stems. Somehow, she delicately pulled out each pistil to catch the drop of sweet nectar. He looked beside her to see a huge mound of discarded flowers. A slight smile touched his lips.

"I will make sure we have our time together," he replied gallantly.

This time he didn't miss her calculating look.

"Yes, we will," she purred.

* * *

"How can we find her in all this?" Kili muttered to his brother after several hours had passed. Fili shrugged. While the minutes ticked by, they engaged as many dwarrowdams and their maids as they could. None showed any sign of being the mystery writer; instead most blushed and tittered at their charm. A few suggested meeting later.

"How many more do we have to talk to?" Kili said out of the side of his mouth. They walked in and among the clans eating and drinking under increasingly cloudy skies.

"I dunno," Fili replied. "The rest are making their way through the crowds as well."

Kissing hands, making witty comments, and complimenting beauty were the order of the day. Even Princess Onkra received some compliments for her choice of jewelry—a citrine necklace and earrings set in gold. She blushed and tugged on her strained seams.

"Reminds me of a steaming pile of …" Dwalin started.

"Don't say it, brother," Balin warned.

Thorin also walked in and among the noble dwarrowdams, stopping to talk to warriors he knew or had heard of. He and Dain stood off to one side for some time and discussed business that affected both kingdoms. All thanked him the outing and his generosity. The day was a great success, but he knew it wasn't due to any effort on his part.

Finally, the skies turned darker, and he thought it wise to end the outing before it rained. Most mounted their ponies and prepared to ride back when a carriage pulled up for Princess Onkra. One of its ponies stumbled, and a groom jumped down to inspect its hoof.

"My lord!" he called out. Pulling up the pony's hoof, both he and Thorin could see that the shoe was lost some time ago and that the pony's hoof was split. If the split grew any wider, she would have to be put down.

"She can't pull the carriage, my lord," the groom said. "She needs to be walked back without a rider."

Princess Onkra huffed.

"Worthless animal!"

She looked around and spied her maid's mount.

"Take that one instead."

Thorin put his hands on his hips.

"And how is she going to get back?"

She dismiss his comment with a wave of her hand.

"She can walk back. It's nothing she hasn't done before."

She threw a scathing glance at her maid, who curtsied deeply but said nothing. Thorin nodded.

"Hitch that pony then," he said, "and I'll walk Ruby back myself."

The groom opened his mouth to protest, but Thorin silenced him.

"I need the walk back," he said. "Being outside is a welcome change after all the grief the week has brought."

Princess Onkra frowned and fiddled with her rings.

"Surely the groom can handle that, my lord," she tutted. "Meanwhile, you're welcome to ride back with me."

He shook his head.

"She needs careful handling, my lady," he said, "and your maid needs a ride back more than I do."

She stared aghast.

"In my carriage?" she asked with a snort. "I won't have it!"

He rolled his eyes and didn't care if she saw it.

Then he waved the carriage away and sent the company ahead on foot. Leaning down, he checked Ruby's hoof again. The pony whinnied, and he patted her side.

"All's well, my girl," he said soothingly. He started walking when he turned back to the maid and fished in his pocket.

"I believe this is yours," he said with a smile as he pulled out the glittering pin.

For a moment, it seemed like all motion stopped while they faced each other.

She sucked in her breath but then dropped all pretense.

"How did you know?" she asked through her veil.

He laughed freely, and it felt good.

"You cut honeysuckle branches for Princess Onkra, don't you?" he asked.

She sighed and nodded.

"Aye," she said in her husky voice, "but I like them as well."

He tilted his head and drunk her in. She stood several feet away, but he could smell the enticing scent of honeysuckle on her. Her waist-length veil kept her face obscured, but she was real and standing in front of him, and that was enough for now. He turned and pulled on the reins to lead Ruby away. She fell in step beside him instead of behind him as a proper maid would do.

"What did you think of my note?" he asked.

She giggled softly, and he thought the sound adorable.

"Which one?" she asked. "The imperious, arrogant arse one, or the one I answered?"

He turned in anger that deflated at her joyful laughter. Chuckling, he shook his head in response. He pulled Ruby between the honeysuckle hedges and stopped.

"The second one," he said, suddenly serious.

She stopped as well and then looked up at the clouds hanging low and heavy over their heads. The day turned dark, and shadows seemed to envelope them. The light breeze grew stronger.

"It was endearing," she said softly, "but I'm just a maid and have no business with someone like Your Majesty."

He took her hand and pulled her closer.

"I have business where I will and, as king, I've decided to make _you_ my business."

She ducked her head, but he could feel her smiling. He knew that this might be his only moment to say what he wanted, and he would make the most of it.

"I meant what I said," he started, "but first I'll have your name."

At that, she looked over his shoulder and behind her. Then taking a step closer, she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "My name is Relianna."

He sighed. Of course, it was. She who had haunted his dreams since her first note was named after his mother. More emotion that he had the heart to feel surged through him, and he groaned with pain.

"Relianna," he repeated.

His hand rose to touch her veil, but she gasped. Hushing her like he would a skittish filly, he stepped forward and took hold of the hem. She pulled back, and he froze. Then sighing in resignation, she pulled it away from him and lifted it herself. The first thing he saw was a silky mass of curly, red hair hanging just above her slimmer-than-average waist. He was surprised that she didn't have the typical dwarven figure of a generous bosom above a thick waist and even wider hips.

"Someone in my ancestry was human," she said by way of apology, but he found her figure powerfully alluring.

Then he saw a delicate chin, full lips, and dark green eyes with thick lashes set into a heart-shaped face. She was just as beautiful as he imagined, and he smiled warmly. Her dimples deepened, and he was enchanted.

"Relianna," he whispered as his arms encircled her. "My Relianna."

His lips closed on hers, and he was both relieved and delighted to feel the same tingling energy suffusing his body. Pulling her in by the small of her back, he kissed her lips and neck with reckless abandon. Again she reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair. He groaned loudly and kissed her roughly, but she matched his desire and pressed herself against him. Finally, he broke away and trapped her in his arms, his lips tasting one soft ear and kissing her hair over and over.

"I want you almost more than I can stand," he said panting. "I would lose all restraint if not for my concern for your honor and safety."

Then he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes, which were swimming in tears.

"I would make love to you here and now and keep you with me always," he said, looking deep into her eyes, "but first I will make you my wife and queen."

She shook her head, but he held her by her shoulders.

"You must marry a noble-born," she said. "I am not …"

His lingering, tender kiss silenced her.

"I must be wed," he agreed, "but I will no longer will let anyone else dictate to whom."

He ran his finger along her cheek and down to her chin.

"I meant what I said in my _second_ note," he whispered. "I love you, Relianna."

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**Pronounced Reliahna. You'll learn more about her in the next chapter, but for now, please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**OK, some of you guessed what might come next but plot twist warning! Let me know what you think and what the implications are. Thorin unravels a bit, and it gets a bit steamy, but I thought it appropriate since this is a new experience for him. And once again thank you for your amazing response! It warms my heart to see so many having as much fun with this as I am. Congrats also to Skywolf42 for being the 100th follower! Any more takers? **

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**Chapter 13**

Members of the company walked back slowly, each looking behind him and squinting to see Thorin and the maid. When they didn't appear in the distance, they chuckled and speculated.

"So," Dwalin started, "she's the one, eh?'

Balin shot him a relieved and thoroughly amused look while they trudged along.

"Keep walking, brother," he said. Then he paused. "Well, if she's not, Thorin will come back with his tail between his legs, but I think she is."

Dwalin glanced sideways at him. They had all been walking for some time lugging weapons that they never got a chance to use. Muttering to himself, he grumbled until Balin told him to stuff it.

"Because?"

"Because she was the _only_ one who didn't speak to any of us," he reasoned, "and did you see that mound of honeysuckle flowers next to Princess Onkra?"

Dwalin's lip curled.

"I try not to think of _anything_ having to do with The Oinker."

His older brother rolled his eyes and kept talking.

"Her lady-in-waiting gathered them for her," he said. Frowning, he hit Dwalin on the arm. "Are you really that dull of a blade? Obviously, she gathered the blossoms before giving them to the princess. That's why she smelled like honeysuckle at times."

"Could be," Dwalin said. "She didn't pick them every day, so maybe we walked right by her."

On the other side of him, Fili and Kili had their own conversation.

"Did you see what she looked like?" Kili asked.

Fili shook his head.

"They were all veiled, but that has its own charms, don't you think, brother?"

Kili nodded. The mystique of the maids led him to dally at the gathering probably more than he should have. Distracted by their soft voices, he sometimes forgot his reason for being there. They laughingly scolded him when he tried to lift their veils, with some maids slapping his hands away and others leaning teasingly close and whispering in his ear.

"Aye, but what if they're veiled for a reason?" he asked with some concern.

Fili scoffed and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

"More like they're better looking than some of those trolls uncle had to meet with," he replied.

"Lady Wogren wasn't so bad," Kili joked. "She certainly had _assets_." He cocked his head toward Gloin. "Now that's something _he_ never stops talking about."

"Aye," Fili added, "maybe uncle's back there making a long-term _deposit!_" They both chuckled under their breath while looking around to see if anyone heard.

Dwalin immediately broke his stride to walk over and cuff them on their heads. He shot them a look that had them staring intently at their feet. Balin scowled and ordered the others to go ahead.

"Now none of that!" he said after he and Dwalin remained behind. "Your uncle would take a twitch to your backsides, no matter your age, if he heard your disrespect. Besides, he would be livid and rightly so if our future queen's honor and dignity were compromised by such talk. You know what a store he sets by those."

In point of fact, Thorin was having a _very_ difficult time _not_ compromising Relianna's honor and dignity. Dwarves were by nature a passionate people, but all did not have the same passions. Thorin rarely debauched with food or drink, preferring instead to keep in control in all circumstances. His great passions, his family, his people, and his mountain, were like fires at the forges—white-hot but contained by duty and discipline. His feelings for Relianna, however, had no such fire-breaks. They blazed into life without the benefit of counsel or training and scorched everything in their path—including his self-control. He had managed—barely—to keep his composure when they kissed, but then she asked him to turn around while she attended to something. He did as she bid until he heard her unclasping a hook on her green velvet gown. Reaching up, she picked the largest and most fragrant blossoms and pushed them down under her neckline. He realized then that her delightful scent came from placing flowers in her bodice. Moaning softly, he turned and saw a hint of her full cleavage, and his desire seared through his last frayed thread of restraint. She had just hooked her bodice when she felt him behind her. Breathing hard, he scooped her hair from around the back of her neck and kissed it. He placed one arm around her middle, splaying his hand firmly on her abdomen, and reached to cup her breast with the other. She grabbed his hands and pulled them away.

"No," she said. He stilled immediately and then wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

"I _must_ make you mine," he whispered. He kissed her ear and down her neck while molding his broad hands to her hips and stroking firmly. A primal urge to claim her and mark her as his own obliterated all thoughts of honor and safety.

"I want you with child, our child. Do not deny my love, sweet Relianna."

He turned her around, and she gasped at the heat in his eyes. His nostrils flared while his fierce gaze roamed over her face and body. Holding her by her sides, his thumbs rubbed lightly underneath her breasts.

"I cannot wait," he said, his voice deep and hungry, but she pushed away and broke out of his embrace.

He reached for her, but she held out her hands.

"I said no!"

He staggered, blinked hard, and tossed his head as though trying to throw something off.

"No?" he rasped.

She took a step back. Her hair fell around her in a glorious cascade of curls, and he almost charged her, but she clasped her veil to her chest and shook her head.

"You'll never forgive yourself if it happens this way," she said strongly. "You'll despise yourself and me in time for allowing it." Then she lifted her chin and stared him down with all the pride and self-possession of a royal princess. "I cherish my honor as much as you do yours, and I value myself too highly to give myself away like this. I am no tumble in the hedgerows!"

He turned his back on her, his chest heaving, and put his fist to his mouth while he tried to calm his instinctive drive. She was right, of course, and already he felt a potent dose of shame running through his veins. Closing his eyes in remorse, he feared that his behavior may have cost him her regard.

"If it helps any, just think of Princess Onkra eating three mince pies without a fork," came her husky voice.

Her unexpected jest forced a pained laugh from him. He turned back to her, worried that he had ruined his hopes, but the affection in her eyes soothed some of his fears. His respect and esteem for her grew, and he bowed deeply.

"You must think me a cur for even suggesting such a thing," he said while looking down at the ground. "I am king, yet I act no better than a debauched dwarf behind a shed."

She saw tears of shame in his eyes, and she softened.

"I think no such thing," she said. "I _never_ believed that of you."

He exhaled in relief and stepped forward with a sincere apology that she accepted quietly. Her merciful heart humbled him, and he silently thanked Mahal. Walking away, he sat on a flat rock, and waited with his head bowed for her to come to him. He knew that she needed to decide what happened next, and he prayed that she wouldn't retreat into polite refusal. After a few minutes, she walked over and stood in front of him, watching his face intently. Gently, and asking her permission first, he wrapped one of her curls around a finger and kissed the silky strands. She smiled warmly and leaned down to kiss his cheek. He took a deep breath and relaxed. All was well again. They sat in peaceful contentment before he asked her what he had been wanting to for some time.

"What _did_ my mother tell you about me?" he asked. "When did you meet her?"

It was her turn for tears to form, and she fidgeted uncomfortably. He took her hand, his passion transformed to tender concern. She leaned against him, and he laced his fingers through hers.

"My mother, Tamra, and my grandfather were traveling healers," she began, "They had traveled to Fornost where they stayed to help during a terrible pox that spring. Mother was a specialist in infectious diseases, and grandfather was an expert in poisons and antidotes."

His brows rose. Such knowledge was unusual and more suited for a lord's court than a traveling healer. He rubbed his mouth with his hand and motioned for her to continue. She was silent, and he wiped a tear off her cheek.

"You don't need to tell me if it's painful," he said softly, and he kissed her hand.

"No," she said, "I want to tell you, to share this with you."

Taking a deep breath, she tried to smile, and his heart swelled at her courage.

"My mother was pregnant with me … and she despaired since my father had died some months before."

"What do you know of your father, Relianna?"

She shook her head in confusion.

"Almost nothing. Grandfather said once that I had my father's coloring, but I had no engraving or painting to go by, and he wouldn't ever tell me his name or even where he was from. I think it hurt him too much. Mother died when I was little. She traveled away somewhere and never came back. Grandfather got word later, and it almost killed him. He was never the same after that and kept me close."

He nodded and stroked her hair, unconvinced at her reasoning.

_More likely she was taken advantage of and he didn't want Relianna to know. _

A dwarrowdam of uncertain parentage would certainly not be anyone's choice for queen, but he put that behind him. He was sure that his people would warm to her when give the chance. What the council thought mattered not a whit.

"You know from my letter what mother tried to do and how Aunt Relia saved her. After that, she said she considered us family. When I was old enough, she gave me this pin. She used to call me Blossom."

Thorin took the pin from her hand and put it in her hair himself where it sparkled even in the dim light of shadows and rain clouds. His mother's pet name for her was apt, and he remembered that he had said the same that night in the dark. She _was_ a blossom that he wanted to savor, but sifting through what she said only brought more questions. Clearly, she was at ease with his mother and even called her Aunt Relia—something that the queen never allowed anyone else to do. But why did his mother allow them the protection of the Longbeards?

"What _is_ your clan, Relianna?"

She ducked her head and fell silent. Taking her by the chin, he looked into her eyes and saw uncertainty. He drew breath at her unspoken admission and understood why she kept her identity a secret for so long. No one was clanless unless they were banished for some terrible crime or cast out for being unfit.

"I don't know," she said, her voice now shaky. "Grandfather wouldn't tell even after I begged."

He squeezed her hand.

"If my mother said you are a Longbeard, then you are," he said, "and I will decree it so if necessary."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her.

"She wrote a letter to me to open when I was grown," she said. "The first page was an official adoption notice into the Longbeard clan and signed with her signature and the Durin seal. By that time, I was alone, and I made my way with another traveling healer using what I learned from my grandfather."

Thorin was surprised, and his curiosity grew. His mother would never undertake something like that without his father knowing. Something more was afoot here, but he couldn't put the pieces together.

"What was the second page?" he asked.

She sighed and was silent, and he stroked her arm and tried to see her face, but her long curls hid her from him.

"Relianna?"

Her breath came out in a rush.

"She wrote that she loved me and that mother was a dear friend of hers. She told me to … to …"

"To?" he prodded.

She put her hands over her face and turned as red as her hair.

"To seek you out for protection. Oh! Not the kind of protection a, a …"

"mistress has from her lover," he finished. "I understand. Why did she ask that of you?"

She picked her face up and hid again behind her hair. He took her curls in one hand and lovingly swept them over her shoulder.

"I don't know, but I couldn't do it. I felt so ashamed and didn't want to take advantage of her kindness."

He frowned. The answer to all of this seemed to be sitting right in front of him but hovered just out of reach. He tried to puzzle it out, but the most important piece was missing. However, there was one thing he knew for certain.

"I will stand by you no matter what comes," he said. "I will love and protect you always."

She nodded and hugged him about his waist. There they stayed, holding each other, until she sat up and shook herself.

"Your mother told me about Frerin and his warm smile and reckless ways," she continued, "about Dis and her sweetness, but mostly, she talked about you."

He chuckled. "I pray that she was merciful."

She laughed.

"Aunt Relia worried for you most, I think, because she saw how much you loved your people and how hard you worked to see them prosper. She said that you stood up to men who tried to cheat them and fought off men who raided the camp. Once I pretended to fight by your side using a wooden stick."

"What happened?" he asked amused.

"I poked a dog, playing that it was an orc, and got in trouble."

"How old are you?"

She looked up with an incredulous expression.

"Dwarves should never ask that of their women folk," she said, "but I honestly don't know. I would guess that I'm about 15 years older than Prince Fili."

Thorin was shocked. Everyone knew how old they were. Long life was a matter of pride among the dwarves, and birthdays were celebrated with the best food and ale that could be found. He, himself, often worked through his birthdays, but Balin still tried every year to drag him off for a celebration somewhere.

She saw his expression and wrung her hands.

"Grandfather never celebrated it," she said. "I don't know why, but I think we were in trouble. I remember having to play inside at times and moving often. Grandfather never stopped looking over his shoulder when we were in the market, and we always wore cloaks with hoods when we went out. I had heard from others that mother would bind her hair so none of it could be seen."

"Why, what color was it?"

Relianna lowered her voice and looked around to make sure they were alone. Thorin noticed that she had done that several times during the outing and once before with him. He didn't know if it was it out of habit or something else.

"Mother's hair looked like spun gold," she said, "very unusual for a dwarf, and anyone who saw her would remember. She was so beautiful with large, blue eyes. If not for the hood, she would have attracted a crowd wherever she went."

A face appeared in Thorin's mind of an exceptionally beautiful dwarrowdam leaning over him with a sad smile on her face, but he couldn't remember where. She had Relianna's heart-shaped face and curling mane of hair. He tried harder to remember, but the face faded away.

"Did she treat any of my people?"

Relianna looked down and nodded.

"Aye, they both did, and she treated _you_ once, but though I made grandfather tell me her story about you, I don't recall where you were."

Thorin smiled and imagined what her childhood memories of him were like. He dearly wanted to know if she cared for him even before their meeting but didn't want to ask.

"So he and my mother told you all about me."

She blushed deeply, and he knew then that she did feel something for him early on.

"I thought you very handsome from their descriptions," she said softly, "but more than that I thought you honorable and kind—everything a prince should be—and I daydreamed at times that I was, that we were … uh, oh bother!"

She crossed her arms over her chest, and sat with her brows pinched together. He laughed and pulled her to him. She tried to lean away, but he kissed her temple.

"I shamed myself completely a few minutes ago," he said, "so there's nothing you can say that's worse."

She looked at him under her lashes and then threw her hands up.

"Very well," she said with a huff. "I thought I was in love with you, and I used to imagine being your wife and a princess. So there! Are you satisfied now? I could have stayed away, but I wanted to see you in person. I never thought that we would meet."

He grinned and kissed her quickly. He was more than satisfied. She frowned in frustration at the smug smile on his face and poked him in the chest.

"However, I did _not_ find you the same prince of my dreams when I entered your gates, if you recall."

His mouth turned down at her even more smug expression.

"I'm sorry I disappointed your expectations of me, Relianna," he said seriously. "I was angry, but I never should have treated anyone disrespectfully. I hope I restored your faith in me,

Her expression changed immediately, and she placed her hand on the side of his face.

"_That's_ who I imagined you to be," she said triumphantly. "I was furious when I saw how you acted at first. That's why I wrote the note, but of course you have, else I'd not let you find me."

At once, he pushed off the rock and took her in his arms.

"You should know that I would find and claim you regardless."

She looked around before letting him kiss her nose. He frowned at her obvious fear that someone was watching and resolved to start back. Several drops had fallen, but no downpour as yet. Still, the others would be reaching the stables soon, and it would not help Relianna's reputation to arrive too much later. She nodded at his unspoken decision and replaced her veil. He wanted to rip it off, but he knew that should anyone see them approaching, all needed to look correct.

Walking over, he grabbed Ruby's reins. The pony had munched contentedly and whinnied at the interruption. Relianna grabbed a handful of tall grass and led the pony's nose with it.

"Come on, girl," she coaxed. "You won't lose your feast, I promise."

Thorin watched with both amusement and pride. He started walking, and she fell in five paces behind him.

"I'll have you know that as soon as I announce our betrothal I'm changing this arrangement," he grumbled. Then he thought a moment and chuckled. "Or perhaps I should keep it the same to keep you in your place."

He heard her growl behind him and smirked.

"And I will commission pointy, steel-tipped shoes so I can kick you in your arrogant backside anytime it's needed, my lord," she said between her teeth, "so prepare to have a continually sore behind."

He laughed at that, and she joined him.

"You must call me Thorin now," he called back. "At least in private. I don't want formalities between us."

She nodded but realized he didn't see it.

"Very well, but that will take some getting used to."

He thought a moment and turned around.

"What did you call me when you pretended we were wed?" he asked with his brows raised.

She clenched her fists and looked around for something to throw. He narrowly dodged a chunk of wood.

"You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"No," he replied with a wide smile.

They kept walking, and he outlined his plans to keep her safe, but she fell silent and then begged him not to do anything just yet.

"We can't be seen together or let anyone know," she said anxiously. "Princess Onkra is angry enough with me as it is for having her time alone with you."

He stopped immediately and walked back to her.

"Has she harmed you?"

She looked down and didn't answer him.

"By Durin," he swore, "I will banish her from our clan if she beats you again."

"She will as soon as I get back. She hurts me for everyone's offenses, but it spares the younger maids, so I take it."

He gripped her by her shoulders and bared his teeth as his eyes bored into hers.

"Never again," he said. "I will assign one of my own people to watch over you as soon as we get back."

He shook her slightly, and she nodded with her face down. The rain clouds passed, and the sun shone brightly as if the darkness had never come. They walked the rest of the way in silence until they reached the stables. No one said anything about them since Balin explained what had happened. The grooms looked at Ruby's hoof while Thorin took Relianna behind the stable where no one could see.

"Go to Oin and tell him you're sick. He will keep you there until I come and explain."

She took a deep breath and nodded. He reached for her and touched her face through her veil.

"I need to see you once more before we go in, my sweet Relianna."

She looked over his shoulder and all around her before she lifted her veil. He had only seen her in the shadows and under dark clouds, but now in the bright sunlight her red hair blazed like fire with copper and gold highlights, and her pupils contracted to reveal peridot green. She looked like a goddess of spring, and he stood transfixed until he saw her eyes. Then all the blood drained from his face, and she cried out in fear.

"What is it? What is it?"

He stared with wide eyes into her frightened face and began to shake with suppressed rage.

"I will kill him! I will _kill_ him!"

"Who?" she cried.

He clenched his fists and then touched his belt to make sure he had his dagger.

"Your _father!_"

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**Woo-hoo! Confrontation coming, and please review!**


	14. Chapter 14

**I'm on a roll friends! So here comes a WWF smackdown! And I love, love, love reading your reviews. So clever and funny. Thanks to all who are now following and those who favorited. Is it significant that this story has twice as many followers as those who marked it as a favorite? Just wondering. Anyway, enjoy and please review! **

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**Chapter 14**

Fili and Kili, along with Dwalin, Balin, and Dain lounged in the Durin family dining room munching on leftovers from the feast. Those in the know tossed theories back and forth about what was happening and what would happen between Thorin and his lady. Dain listened with surprised interest. He knew that Thorin despised the council's degree and that no one, including his Onkra, met with his approval. That truth didn't surprise him and, in fact, he was secretly relieved that his daughter wasn't in the running. What she would do with power and almost unlimited resources chilled his blood.

"So Thorin's found someone after all, has he?" he asked after wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Grease left a stain on the brown leather jerkin. "Which one is she?"

Balin cleared his throat. They had forgotten Dain in their midst, and the conversation ended awkwardly. As if planned, they dug into the food on their plates with renewed enthusiasm. He wasn't fooled. Folding his arms over his chest, he kicked back in his chair, determined to wait them out.

"Who did he choose?" he asked with his brows raised. He eyed each one, but they didn't meet his gaze. After an uncomfortable pause, Dwalin shrugged and gestured to Balin. The old dwarf sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Aye, well, it seems, ahem, that our good king's enamored of Onkra's lady-in-waiting," he replied hesitantly.

Dain blinked, and chair fell forward with a loud thud. His eyes unfocused as though he was running through all his interactions with Thorin to find a cause for his cousin's madness. Then he steepled his hands, and rubbed his nose.

"Is he daft?" he asked incredulously. "Of course, _I_ won't hold this against him, but that won't be true of the other clans. Is he touched in the head? He's declaring war!"

Dwalin tossed a disgruntled glance to his kinsmen.

"Aye, that's what I told him, but he's determined."

Dain looked at the others and, one by one, their heads dropped. That thought had never really been an issue since the mystery writer's identity was unknown, but now his comments made painful sense.

"I see you all don't agree with him," he said. He shook his head disbelieving. "If she's not of noble blood, he can enjoy her favors without declaring himself. Did any of you bring that up?"

Balin smacked his lips softly and blew his breath out his mouth.

"We didn't dare," he said. "Thorin doesn't think that way, Dain. If he's truly in love with her, there's only one choice as far as he's concerned."

The Lord of the Iron Hills leaned forward and spread his hands on the gray, granite table.

"Now see here," he started. "What if she's a fortune hunter interested in elevating her station? I'll wager that such a lass would do most anything to rise from maid to queen. For all we know, she may have seduced him with her wit and charm to gain an advantage. Do we really want to let him risk his people's safety and happiness on a wench who can be bought off for much less?"

Balin winced at Dain's words but wouldn't acknowledge them as true without a fight.

"I don't think she's a fortune hunter," he said firmly. "She refused to give her identity at first, and at great risk she helped other noble dwarrowdams who were coerced to come." He shared about Lady Meera and Princess Faltha. Dain wasn't impressed.

"So she has one virtue," he argued, "so what? She may feel sorry for someone, but I'll be bound that she was also trying to get rid of the competition. She's clever, I'll give her that, but it doesn't change that my cousin's entangled with a trollop who'd spread her legs for anyone who can help her."

The others looked pained, but they couldn't dismiss the possibility that he was right.

Suddenly, the door flew open, and Thorin stood there blowing out breath through his nose like a snorting bull. His face was taut with fury and his expression as dark as the thunderclouds that passed over the mountain. All looked toward him with sober faces, and his narrowed eyes fell on his cousin.

Without a word, he stormed over and grabbed Dain by his leather collar. With one hand, he hauled his cousin up out of his chair and threw him against the wall. The back of his head slammed into stone with a loud crack. The others jumped to their feet in horror.

"No!"

"Uncle, wha …?"

"Have you gone insane?"

"Uncle, stop!"

The King of Erebor held Dain by the neck against the wall, one hand pressing on his windpipe, and the other holding his dagger at his throat.

"Th-Th-Thor …" Dain croaked, but Thorin only squeezed harder, and all heard Dain gasp and retch. Dwalin, Fili, and Kili rushed to pull him off, but Thorin yelled, "Don't move!" and they stopped. Then he leaned in close.

"How could you, cousin?" he asked dangerously. "How could you cast off your daughter and treat her that way?"

Dain looked both shocked and confused.

"Onkra?" he choked out.

"No!" Thorin hissed, and a sound of disgust rumbled in his throat.

"Relianna, your daughter with Tamra."

His cousin turned as pale as Thorin had been earlier.

"No, no, Tamra lost the baby," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears.

Thorin stared at him for a minute, sheathed his dagger, and released him. Dain slid to the ground coughing and holding his throat. The others stared at the two of them, not sure what to do or make of the situation.

"She deceived you then," Thorin said, grinding out every word between his teeth. "Your daughter with her is here serving Onkra as her lady-in-waiting."

The room exploded with gasps and cries. It seemed too outlandish to be believed. Balin alone kept his head.

"Tamra, daughter of Tobrin, your court healer?" he asked. "I remember her. One of the most beautiful dwarrowdams I'd ever seen, although she was unfortunate to show the blood of men in her lineage. Such a shame. She would have married well otherwise."

The two cousins faced off with Thorin seething and Dain bewildered. He ran his hand over his head and muttered under his breath.

"It can't be, it just _can't_ be."

He began pacing back and forth, becoming more and more agitated.

"It is," Thorin said, obviously trying to calm his anger by clenching and unclenching his fists. "She has Tamra's face and curly hair and your eyes."

Dain paced faster and finally turned on his cousin.

"No!" he shouted. "She wouldn't do that to me! We kept no secrets from each other! She would never hide our child from me!"

Thorin refused to back down.

"But she wasn't always with you, was she? She had to go some here, didn't she? Visit kin on some emergency perhaps?

He glared at Dain who goggled blankly.

"She concealed her pregnancy and tried to kill herself in despair," he continued. "My mother found her by the river outside Fornost where she went to drown herself. She saved Tamra's life. Later, she adopted Relianna into our clan because she knew once she saw her that she was _your_ child."

Dain cried out and put his fists to his ears.

"I won't hear this! It isn't true. How dare you bring up what I told you in confidence! I trusted you, and this is how you repay me? You mock my pain!"

Thorin threw out his chest and roared in anger.

"Do I look like I'm in jest?" he snapped. "Your daughter is beaten weekly by that monstrosity you call kin."

Dain covered his face with his hands, and all heard his breath puff between his fingers. Then he dropped them and drew himself up stiffly. His face twisted with disdain.

"She's played you for a _fool_," he said coldly. "What did she do, _cousin? _Let you take her between the hedgerows then make you hear her tale of woe?"

His words hit too close to the truth, and Thorin lunged at him. The two slammed together like rams locking horns, and the others rushed to pull them apart. Fili and Kili grabbed Dain, and Dwalin and Balin pulled Thorin back by his arms. Both kings strained and struggled to free themselves.

"Enough!" Balin shouted while still gripping Thorin's arm and shoulder. "This isn't getting us any closer to the truth. You need to meet her, Dain, and decide for yourself."

Instead, his eyes filled with contempt, and he stopped struggling. Once Fili and Kili let go, he rolled his shoulders to shrug his robes back into place. Then he faced Thorin with studied indifference.

"I'll forgive you for your lapse of judgment, Thorin," he said frostily. "The wench obviously turned your head with her charms. I'm surprised you fell for her lies, but I suppose she might have enough facts to make it plausible. Therefore, I'm willing to overlook your actions—this time."

Then his gaze turned hard.

"But if you _ever_ bring this up again, I will meet you on the field of honor."

Without another word, he strode out the door with his head held high and slammed it behind him. No one spoke.

"Laddie," Balin ventured after a minute, "is it possible that …?"

"No."

"She could have learned a few things from the maids. They have plenty of time to gossip."

"No."

"Think on it, laddie," he said, "it might be possible…"

"No. It. Isn't," Thorin replied, accentuating each word.

Kili's voice broke in.

"Why do you think so, Uncle?" he asked timidly. "What did she tell you?"

Thorin shook his head in frustration.

"It all makes sense. Everything she said makes sense, and she's no fortune hunter. If she was …." He stumbled over his words. "If she was, she _would_ have let me take her in the hedgerows. Mahal knows I wanted to."

Fili's eyes bulged, and Kili's mouth hung open. They had never heard their uncle talk like that before. Dwalin pursed his lips, and Balin sighed.

"Well," he said, "there's no help for it then. We need to meet her."

* * *

Words poured out of Thorin as he shared what Relianna told him while they headed to the infirmary. It was clear that he was deeply in love, and his nephews and friends hoped dearly for his sake that she was truly who he said. That, of course, would bring up other troubling issues but, for now, they only wanted to know that their king didn't give his heart away for nothing.

"So, laddie," Balin said, "you told her you loved her, eh?" Now he wasn't sure his suggestion was a good one, and he looked over his shoulder to see Dwalin's disapproving stare. "And she told you that she loved you?"

Thorin faltered in his stride. She never did, but he didn't doubt her affection. Then again, she _didn't _say she loved him. Perhaps her affection was only a childhood fantasy. She said she _had_ loved him as a child. He touched his lips. She certainly kissed him with enough passion to persuade, but her words said something else. That she wanted to meet him to see if he measured up to her expectations gave him pause. Perhaps she only kissed him to see what it was like. Perhaps she went along with his thoughts and plans because she felt she couldn't refuse a king.

Gloomy thoughts filled his mind as he walked down the corridor to the infirmary. He opened the door and saw Oin and Nella rolling bandages. Relianna wasn't there. His heart started pounding.

"Where is she?" he asked Oin.

The faithful old healer tilted his head toward a door.

"I decided to keep her hidden since we've had a number of visitors trying to find her," he said with a significant look at Thorin who frowned.

"Who wants to know?"

Oin lowered his voice.

"Princess Onkra sent servants all over Erebor looking for her. When they came here, I told them that she fell ill and needed treatment. Oh, but that wasn't good enough, and the princess demanded that I tell her what happened and treat her in the royal guest chambers. I refused and then a healer came to the door offering his services. I suppose he was from another clan and just happened to hear of this, or maybe the princess send him. I found that odd because he didn't help after the mine collapsed."

Thorin turned to the others and arched a brow. No maid would generate such a stir. Balin stroked his beard and nodded at the door.

"Can we see her now?" he asked.

Oin blocked their way.

"She came here almost hysterical," he said. "What in Durin's name did you tell her, Thorin?" He turned to see if Nella was listening, but she had slipped through the door to be with Relianna.

Thorin waved his comments away.

"We will see her now," he commanded.

Oin shuffled toward the door and knocked.

"Someone to see you, lassie," he said kindly. He stepped away, and Relianna came into view. She wore her veil, but all could hear her sniffling. Thorin walked up to her, his heart glowing in spite of his doubts.

"I'm so afraid," she said to him. "What's happening? Why did you say you wanted to kill my father? He's dead!"

Then she put her hands over her face and sobbed. Thorin stepped up and embraced her tenderly while murmuring endearments and soothing words. Balin thought that if she was play-acting, she was the best he'd ever seen. Dwalin shifted his feet while Fili and Kili looked on with rapt attention. Then Balin stepped back and tried to puzzle her out.

"These are my nephews and closest friends," Thorin said, turning to introduce them. She curtsied gracefully. "Relianna, I know this is untoward, but I ask that you take off your veil."

She gasped and stepped back, but he took her hand and nodded. With one hand, she slowly pulled off her veil. Her red-gold curls fell all around her, and her green eyes were bright with tears. Fili and Kili moved their assessing eyes down her body and blinked at her trim waist.

"Durin's beard!" Dwalin said.

Fili and Kili stood staring.

Balin nodded sadly.

"It's true then. She's the daughter of Tamra and Dain."

* * *

**So what do you think should come next? I have a few ideas, but I'm always willing to hear more. BTW, a reviewer said that her thinner waist was a disappointing cliché, but I used a physical difference to further prove her connection to her mother. Other things might be explained away, but showing the blood of men, a rare and undesirable connection, could not.**


	15. Chapter 15

**You guys are the best! Many thanks again for brightening my days. Now let me ask you. Some writers update every month if that, and their stories are carefully thought out and crafted. Obviously, mine aren't. So what do you think is better for the readers? I enjoy writing, but I wonder if I could do better with more time and care. On the other hand, I don't want to wait to see what my characters are going to do!**

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Fili and Kili stared at Relianna in dismay and threw disbelieving looks to each other. _This_ is who their uncle was in love with? Wrinkling his nose like he was watching Princess Onkra eat, Kili shook his head slightly, and Fili nodded in agreement. They were not at all impressed. Her hair was a riot of color, not the rich red of dwarrowdams, and her face was lovely but too even in feature. Fili looked down and grimaced. The rest of her was unremarkable as well. She didn't have the impressive physique that their dwarrowdams possessed. For one thing, her breasts, though shapely, were small in comparison to the bountiful bosoms of dwarf women, and where were her hips? Did she not eat? That alone made them skeptical.

"Maybe Onkra eats all her food," Kili muttered into his brother's ear. "It's possible, you know. Poor thing looks half-starved."

Fili stood back and grasped his chin with his hand like he was examining an artwork.

"Aye, maybe," he whispered, "but that _is_ how human women look. I'll grant that she's more curvaceous than most of them, but her waist! I could snap her in half with one hand. How could any dwarf find that appealing? Why choose a twig when you can have the whole tree?"

Kili's eyebrows went up, and the corners of his mouth pulled down.

"There's not even an armful there," he agreed. "Can she even breed, do you think?"

Fili wagged his head back and forth.

"Well, humans do you know, but I'm not sure she could carry a dwarfling. What is uncle _thinking?_"

What Thorin thought was patently clear. He chafed her hand gently and held her like gingerly like a delicate yet precious heirloom. Sitting silently, his eyes shone with the soft light of concern, and he pulled her close when her face registered Balin's words. No one had ever seen him act like that before.

"What did you just say?" she asked, staring at Balin like she had seen a specter on a foggy night. Thorin led her to one of the beds, and she sat down dumbly and stared at the floor. Closing her eyes tightly, she shook her head, and he urged her to lean against him.

"Lord Dain is my father? Lord Dain is my _father? _Oh Mahal, Princess Onkra is my _sister?_"

Balin nodded soberly. No one could deny the truth now. With her red hair, green eyes, and slimmer figure, she was a true mixture of her parents. Even Dwalin couldn't deny who stood before him, and he sighed heavily. He had hoped that Thorin was wrong, but her blood gave her away. Couplings between dwarves and humans were not only rare but deeply frowned on, and children of such unions were often shunned by both races unless they could pass as pure blood. Tamra's magnificent hair and eyes, along with her skills as a healer, afforded her some respect from the dwarves, but her despair at being pregnant was in large part because she knew how impossible life would be for her children without at least a marriage to legitimize them.

"Does he know?" she asked in a small voice. She turned to Thorin with her face a question, and he hesitated, not sure how she would take the news. Seeing his concern for her, she divined the answer.

"I see," she said, her voice steely, "so he seduced my mother and left her pregnant and alone. Huh, at least during my childhood I thought I had a father who loved me despite mother's blood. I guess we're both bastards."

Everyone's eyebrows shot up at her bitter words, and Thorin tried to put his arm around her, but she pushed him off and stood to face the others.

"I see your hesitation," she said, challenging each dwarf with her stance. "I disgust you. How _dare_ you think that way when your kinsman seduced and abandoned my mother! Don't you _ever_ tell me you're in the right when you can do a thing like that!" She laughed harshly. "And believe me Dain's _not_ the only one. There's many a lord who's taken a lover only to cast her off when it was convenient!"

Then she snatched her veil and threw it over her head. With it on, she looked like any other servant.

"This is how I survived your scorn and contempt," she said, her words cutting like a sharpened blade. "Like mother, I lived my life in layers of clothes to disguise my shape. She loved her people, but they thought her good only for healing those with loathsome diseases. I did the same, but I couldn't countenance making my living by following contagion like a vulture hovering over a dying animal, so I sought honest work as a servant. Ha! Honest work only to beaten like a dog by your _noble_ princess."

Throwing off Thorin's attempt to hold her back, she grabbed her skirts, and headed swiftly for the door. Gripping the frame, she turned back and shot them all a glare they could feel like hot coals through her veil.

"Don't bother to try to find me," she said, her voice laced with scorn. "I relieve you of that distasteful chore." Then she turned to Thorin, who reached out for her, determined not to let her leave, and her breath caught in her throat. He gripped her shoulders and tried to reason with her, to get her to listen to him. She didn't answer, and he pulled the back of her head forward, so he could lean his forehead against hers. Her tears left wet splotches on her veil.

"Did you forget the promise I made to you?" he asked as he lifted her chin with his finger and carefully stroked it. "I wish you no different than you are, and I say again that I will stand by you no matter what comes."

Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths and small gasps as she fought not to cry. Though she never said so, it was clear that she loved their king dearly. Pulling him to her, she let him fold her in his arms and hold her so close that they melded together. He tugged at her veil until it slid to the floor and wove his fingers into her hair. She whimpered out her pain and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm so tired, Thorin," she mumbled softly, "so tired of running and hiding and not belonging anywhere."

He rocked her like a babe and kissed her hair gently.

"Hush, Relianna, this will be your home, and my people will accept you. I will see to that."

Slowly, she picked herself up off him, held his cheeks, and gazed into his eyes sadly. He quickly took her hand and kissed it. Then she looked at Fili, Kili, and Dwalin and saw their astonished faces. Rubbing one eye with back of her hand, she turned to him wearily.

"Your best friends and kin don't think me worthy, my lord, and they are the ones who love you most. If they won't give me a chance, what makes you think your people would?"

Bending to the floor, she picked up her veil and shook it out. Then she pulled it on and arranged it around her carefully. Dipping into a graceful curtsy, she kept her eyes on the floor like a well-trained servant. Turning to Oin and Nella, she curtsied again. Thorin exhaled in consternation, but she took one step back.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, her voice breaking, "thank you for the happiest day of my life."

Then she turned and fled. She was already down the corridor and almost out into the main hall before he could stop her. He went after her, but two dwarves rounded the corner. She dodged nimbly around them, but he did not. They bowed hastily, and he waved his hand for them to move aside, but it was too late, and she lost herself in the crowds beyond. He scanned them until he realized that as soon as she joined the many other veiled maids in green, she simply walked away with them. Pounding his fist against the wall, he cursed loudly. Then he turned and walked back to the others with grim determination.

"What did she see on your faces that made her run?" he asked with forced calm.

Balin faced him, but the others dropped their eyes. Finally, Fili blew out his breath and looked his uncle in the eye.

"She looks more human than dwarf in some ways, and it surprised us is all."

"Surprised?" he countered with deadly quiet. He put his bunched fists on his hips and leaned forward slightly in challenge.

"She's not what we expected."

"I see."

Fili threw a glance to Dwalin, silently begging to step in. The old warrior huffed and worked his jaw before he stepped up to speak his mind. The crown prince relaxed and stood closer to his brother for support.

"Durin's beard, Thorin, of course we're not pleased with this, but I don't blame the lass. She can't help what she is."

"And just _what_ is she?"

Suddenly, the ground beneath them threatened to cave if their next words weren't very, very careful. Balin studied his brother and the princes, sighed deeply, and glanced up at the ceiling, seemingly in prayer. Folding his arms across his chest in expectation of more doubts, Thorin waited silently, his blinking eyes his only movement.

"She's just as beautiful as her mother, Thorin," Balin said wistfully. The others wisely held their tongues. "Regardless of her blood, Tamra was kind, patient, and loving. When I took ill during a trip to the Iron Hills, she treated me like I was the most important person in her life and took such good care of me, that I left better than I came. I've never known anyone like her, and I can well believe what Dain felt and what you feel for Relianna."

Thorin relaxed slightly and nodded his approval. Tears gathered in his eyes. Balin acknowledged him and went on.

"However, we have our prejudices, laddie, one of which being that dwarves of mixed race are unacceptable. You as king know this better than most. She may be all that her mother was, but that won't be enough for our people to take her to heart."

Thorin absorbed Balin's words like a blow, and he crumpled and fell into a chair. The others sat around him. No one knew what to say next. Thorin looked off with his fist under his chin while the rest waited uneasily.

"She's what I want," he said firmly. "I won't do what Dain did and give her my love but not my hand. He told me to change all this, and I will."

"How?" Kili asked.

Sitting up with a new resolve, he steepled his index fingers against his mouth.

"First, we need to make sure she's protected. Then I will challenge Dain on the field of honor and force him to accept her. That will turn the tide in my favor."

The others chorused their disapproval, but he dismissed their concerns. Instead, he sent them out in pairs to find her, and he headed to Dain's guest quarters where he was intercepted by a servant.

"Princess Onkra says it's most urgent that she see you, Your Highness."

Up until that point, he had dodged or refused all requests. However, the timing of this one awoke a new fear in him, and he walked quickly to her chambers, wondering if it wasn't a coincidence. After he was announced, he strode into her receiving room where she waited with two maids, neither of them Relianna.

"My lord," she said triumphantly, "you've come at last. I have been most anxious to spend time with you. I feel that it will be rewarding to both of us."

He nodded and approached her carefully. Once again, something in her tone alerted him to danger, although he knew that she couldn't physically harm him. That is, unless she fell on him.

"Oh my," she said sarcastically, her sweet façade dropping like the curtain from a window, "so grave you are. Perhaps I can amuse you with the tale I wanted to tell. I find it most humorous. Oh, do be seated. Biscuits?"

He shook his head and clasped his hands behind his back.

"I prefer to stand, my lady," he said in a neutral tone. Irritation flashed across her face, but she waved her fat fingers to dismiss her maids. Then she trained her eyes on his face. Folded slits faced off against cold, blue eyes.

"As you will. Now to start. Once, not so long ago, very foolish lord fell in love with a mixed blood."

Thorin's face turned dark, but he kept himself in hand, knowing now what was coming. The veins in his neck bulged, and his jaw clenched until it ached, but outwardly he looked nonchalant.

"Throwing away all honor, he bedded his mistress, who bore his bastard. He believed her lies that the rat died in her womb, and he later wed a noble dwarrowdam. She loved him, but he spurned her, preferring the attentions of his whore. The lady died after giving birth to their only child, a child he could hardly bear to look at. Outraged by his treatment of her, the lady's family poisoned the whore when she returned to see her lover. Meanwhile, they searched for the bastard until by luck it unknowingly came to work as a servant."

Pursing his lips casually, Thorin relaxed his stance and gazed at her with studied boredom.

"Very interesting," he said, "and what do you mean by telling me this?"

She smiled with gratification and popped a biscuit in her mouth while watching him all the while. He was indeed a master player, but she knew she had backed the king into the corner. Once he lost his queen, she would win.

Dunking another biscuit into her tea, she took a deep breath and wriggled in excitement.

"Oh, I simply wondered why father's bastard fascinates you."

Thorin didn't move, but his expression said everything. Despite a flash of fear at his reaction, Onkra sat securely in self-righteous triumph. So there _was_ someone watching, he realized, and Relianna must have suspected. All at once, he feared for her. Someone who killed her mother wouldn't hesitate to take her life once the opportunity presented itself. Her mother and grandfather were perhaps only one step ahead of assassins for the whole of her life.

"So what stopped your family from killing her when they had the chance?" he asked as calmly as he could manage.

She grinned in appreciation of his skill. He had out-maneuvered her for the moment, but she was sure she'd have her victory when all was said and done. She had planned for this moment for a very long time.

"You know the old phrase 'keep your friends close but you enemies closer'?" she replied.

He snorted in contempt and turned his face away. Thinking back, his decision to hide her with Oin probably saved her life. A cold stab of fear twisted his gut. Soon, if not already, those who wanted her dead would find her.

"You beat your own sister?" he asked, his voice rising.

At that, all pretense fell away, and she screamed from her seat.

"With pleasure! That bitch should never have been born! Soon Cousin Zozer will finish what he started so long ago. I'm only sorry you found out. Beating that skinny back was a rare treat."

Thorin paled. Zozer was widely known as a clanless dwarf who relentlessly tracked his targets. He rarely missed those he hunted, and being nondescript, he easily melted into the background. Dain would never have married Onkra's mother if he knew of _that_ connection.

"So you're related to Zozer the shadow assassin?" Thorin shot back. "I'm not surprised." He eyed her with obvious disgust. "It may take some time, but we'll find him," he said with a confidence he didn't feel.

She crushed several biscuits in each hand so enraged was she, but he grinned wolfishly and flicked his fingers at her.

"But you, you're a rare sight. A dwarrowdam so hideous that you sicken those around you."

In response, she held out her arms and let the fat hang from her like sails.

"You think this is by accident? No, my good _cousin_"—she spat the word—"I couldn't beautiful, so I chose to be supremely ugly. No one loved me, and no one ever would, so I cursed the world and made it suffer. I worked at it for years, cultivating a perfect image. Tell me, how many names do you remember of those who came? Hmmm? Insipid wenches who all look the same, but I, I am unique. My name will live on while those pampered princesses fade into obscurity. I am Onkra, a masterpiece of ugliness that no one will forget!"

Thorin stared at her for a moment and then laughed heartily. She tried not to show it, but it unnerved her more than his anger.

"No," he said, "you're just an angry, spiteful child who wants to punish the world for the actions of one dwarf." He stood in front of her and leaned forward. "Even if you weren't blessed with beauty, you could have been loved for a kind heart. Relianna is generous and good because that's who she _chose_ to be, and I don't care where she comes from. But you, I pity _you._"

For a moment, she fell silent while she thought through his words, and he saw a slight softening, a slight lightening of her spirit. Staring at him puzzled, she looked lost without her burning resentment. Then her face turned red, and she screamed like a loon in the night.

"I hate you! I hate all of you!" She threw biscuits at him, but they fell at his feet. "You think her honorable, but she traveled with her lover for years before she came to the Iron Hills. Now get out! I don't care if you're king. You're no better than my so-called father. Get out before I tell all of Erebor that you hurt me!"

He turned on his heel.

"_No one_ would _ever_ believe you, " he said over his shoulder, and he strolled to the door in deliberate insult. Standing in the entrance, he ran his eyes over her and smirked. "And those who might would _cheer_."

* * *

The four dwarves fanned out to find Relianna with Balin and Dwalin heading to the maids' quarters, thinking that she might hide herself among them, and Fili and Kili searching all the outdoor gardens, knowing that she loved being outside. They found her sitting mostly hidden in a secluded arbor in the spring garden.

"We came to say we're sorry," Fili said contritely. Kili looked pained and nodded at his brother's words. "We never meant to hurt you, and we don't care anymore what others think. You must be wonderful for uncle to love you, and you deserve a chance to prove it."

She looked up in amazement. Sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, she pulled off her veil to appraise them and their words. They smiled apologetically, and though cautious at first, she hesitantly returned their smile. Feeling that all was resolved, they budged her over and plopped themselves down on either side. She found their expressions of utter relief endearing.

"I'll wager that your guilt was heavy to bear," she said dryly.

They raised their brows and chuckled with her.

"I admit that you surprised us, and old ways of thinking are hard to change," Fili said, "but it's more important that uncle's happy, and perhaps it's time to change those notions."

"Aye," Kili said. "I'd rather have a fun aunt who loves my uncle than a sour princess who cares only that she's queen. We know what you did for Lady Meera and Princess Faltha, and that took courage. That shows noble blood more than appearance."

She smirked and lifted one brow.

"So you think me ugly then?"

They blanched.

"Well, uh, not as such," Kili stuttered. "But we thought that maybe Onkra ate all your food, and you just needed fattening up a bit."

She gasped and broke into peals of laughter while the brothers grinned sheepishly. Then she grew thoughtful.

"There may be something to that," she said. "I've never had enough food to fill my stomach. I suppose a few good meals might help."

That was all she needed to say for the princes to grab her under her arms and announce that they were heading to the dining hall. Once outside, they told a guard to find Dwalin, Balin, and the king. Then they regaled her ears with descriptions of her next 10 meals.

"Easy now," she said after hearing about the various puddings, roasts, and platters available. "I'll have to take it slowly at first."

After getting word, Thorin headed to the dining hall and saw Fili and Kili holding forks stacked with an apple dessert and trying to feed her at the same time. Every time she opened her mouth to say something, a fork was shoved in.

"Enough! Enough!" she said, her voice muffled by cheeks full of apple crisp. "Mahal above, do you want to choke me?"

After swallowing the big lump, she looked up and saw Thorin standing there in thankful relief. She rose from her place and hurried toward him while he rounded the table.

"Sweet Relianna," he said hoarsely, "don't ever do that again." He grabbed her and ran his fingers through her hair and over her cheeks. Then he softly kissed her cheeks over and over until Fili cleared his throat. Instead of stopping, he held her face and kissed her full on the lips.

"I think that's our cue to leave," Kili said, and they shooed each other out the door.

Thorin picked her up in his arms and sat down in his chair with her on his lap. He kissed her fervently, and she clung to him.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she said as she stroked his face, "but I just couldn't bear their condemnation."

He nodded with his head down. All he cared about was that he had her safe. A small voice asking if what Onkra said was true was pushed far down in his heart.

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**Please review, oh , and I want to write a story where all the male romantic leads of The Hobbit and LOTR meet to discuss the clichés they're subjected to, so if you know of obnoxious clichés, send them my way!**


	16. Chapter 16

**And the fun continues. Onkra gets what she oh-so-richly deserves in this chapter while Fili and Kili come to the rescue. Have fun, and welcome to all those who signed up since last time. A special thank you to Nuka and her sister for their support of several stories. I appreciate all the reviews and PM's more than you know.**

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**Chapter 16**

Thorin's efforts to force Dain to acknowledge Relianna and end his misery didn't go the way he imagined. In fact, his expectations didn't prepare him in the least for what actually happened. After ensuring that she was safely tucked away, he stormed up to Dain's sumptuous chambers complete with bearskin rugs, an ebony desk, and a four-poster bed with red velvet comforters and silk bed curtains emblazed with the Durin crest. He waited impatiently until he was announced and confronted his cousin who had a glass of red wine in his hand. Instead of angrily accepting his challenge, Dain swallowed the rest of the wine in a mighty gulp and laughed.

"I'm in earnest!" Thorin said heatedly. "I will push you until you challenge me or you accept my challenge."

The Lord of the Iron Hills waved his hand in good humor and laughed louder at Thorin's stunned expression.

"You challenge my honor for the sake of a wench who has none?" he mocked. "No, Thorin, you're not in your right mind. I realized that downstairs. I was angry then, but now I understand. If you weren't mad, you'd never do such a thing. Our laws forbid duels when one or both parties are insane, and that's what you are. Temporarily, of course, but a bit touched all the same. Her charms must have some hold on you, but you'll tire of her soon enough and laugh with me over a pint."

Thorin gritted his teeth and restrained himself from maiming his cousin. Clearly, nothing he could say would change Dain's mind. Somehow he had to see her, but Thorin wouldn't risk it until she was safe.

"I see," he said with tight control on his temper. "Aye, but you'll be the one to go mad when your daughter learns that you renounced her out of hand. I won't tell her, but she's clever and will find out for herself."

He stepped closer to his cousin whose smirk now seemed a tad forced.

"I pity you, Dain," he said. "She's kind, loving, and honorable, and you do her a great disservice. Did you ever wonder how Tamra died, eh? She died from poison at the hand of Zozer, the very dwarf who's after your daughter. Don't believe me? Ask Onkra for the details. She knows more than you do evidently."

"No!" Dain shouted. "Your wench lies!

"Ask her!" Thorin spat out. "A bushel of honey buns ought to loosen her tongue!"

Stalking to the door, he turned and took Dain's measure with a contemptuous glance.

"Tamra would be ashamed of you. Think on that during the watches of the night.""

* * *

With every hour of his day accounted for, he spent much desired time with Relianna after the nightly feast. As soon as he could, he excused himself from the festivities and headed directly to the infirmary. Balin arranged a simple but elegant meal for them and furnished one of the unused sick rooms as richly and quietly as he could manage. Each night she waited eagerly for him and ran into his arms with a happy squeal. Oin smiled at Thorin's easy laughter. The Heir of Durin was known for his solemn demeanor, but she brought out a lighter side that the old physician had rarely seen. That was enough to win his approval.

"Look at me!" she had complained the first night while Thorin took his time doing exactly that. "I look like a laundry worker."

She picked at her thin gown and pulled off her kerchief. Her messy curls spilled down her back, and she impatiently flicked them away from her face. He reached over to pull one out of her lashes. Oin not only kept her in chambers designed for quarantine, but also insisted that she dress in a light, linen smock and kerchief to hide her hair. Anyone who saw her would think her a patient, and she was _not_ pleased, not pleased at all.

"I think you look enchanting," Thorin said gallantly. He looked out the door to the next room where Oin was studying a medical journal and frowned at his presence.

"I thank you," she said in good humor, "but I look like a sack of flour. Give me a minute to change. Fili and Kili had the seamstresses make a new gown for me, and I want to look nice for a change."

"They did?" he asked with surprise. "That was unusually thoughtful."

She shrugged.

"I think it was their way of apologizing. Be just a minute."

He heard her rustling with the fabric of her linen smock and knew that she had discarded it when he heard her kicking it aside. The thought of her standing there almost naked sent shivers up his spine. He sat carefully on the edge of a soft leather sofa and waited impatiently.

"By Durin's nose hair!" she huffed. Thorin put his fist to his mouth but couldn't stop a low laugh from escaping.

"Did she say 'by Durin's nose hair'?" Oin asked from the other room.

Thorin leaned over and nodded, and Oin chuckled to himself.

"What on the anvil where they thinking!" she exclaimed.

"Having trouble?" Thorin asked, now curious.

The door cracked open.

"Aye, I think they meant well, but their tastes are _very _different than mine."

"Oh?" Thorin asked. "I'd like to see regardless."

She exhaled peevishly.

"Uh, I need some help with the laces," she said with one eye peeking from the door.

Thorin was more than willing, but Oin bustled over and gave his king a stern look.

"I'll be happy to help you, lass," he said.

She opened the door and kept her back to them. Thorin liked the dress already. It was made of rich, blue silk in just the shade he favored. Tight at the waist with bell sleeves and a low v-neck in the back, it fit in all the right places. He wondered how much time his nephews spent observing her figure to commission a dress like that. Oin pulled and yanked on the laces, and Relianna gasped and moaned with each strong jerk. Thorin found the whole process arousing and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Then she turned, and his hands itched to strangle his nephews. The dress was extremely low-cut by dwarven standards with her breasts pushing against the bodice so that her cleavage curved and dipped over the top of the square neckline.

"You look lovely," he said in a strangled voice. Oin grunted with amusement and left to get the trays.

Thorin took her by the hand and pulled her down on the sofa.

"You _are_ lovely," he said and kissed her gently. He controlled his desire with what he liked to think was the discipline he honed as prince of his people but, in reality, it was his pride that wouldn't allowed him to repeat his ghastly mistake.

They spent the next few hours together with him telling her about his day, including terse descriptions of the noble dwarrowdams. She filled in what he wouldn't say, and he chuckled with embarrassed amusement. Then he asked about her life. She easily shared stories about her childhood but was oddly quiet about what happened after her grandfather died. Doubts reappeared in his mind, but he squelched them quickly and smiled.

"Can I walk about, Thorin?" she had asked. "I can't stay here for the rest of the month." She smiled teasingly. "I might catch something!"

* * *

Thorin charged Fili and Kili to safeguard Relianna's welfare, but to say that she chafed under their watchful eyes was an understatement. The King of Erebor was more than willing to do the job himself, but loyal friends and kin said that it would only draw more attention to her. He grumbled loudly but admitted that they were right.

Instead, he ordered his nephews to stay with her. Few would question the flirtatious princes enjoying the company of a maid. In the meantime, Thorin had to keep the council's schedule until next week. He struggled to be gracious, but the effort wore on him when every day his guards could find no trace of Zozer.

"I don't see why I can't pick honeysuckle with you both," Relianna said with her arms crossed over her chest and one foot tapping a fast rhythm. They had pulled her into a small chamber and tried to reason with her after they caught her hiding behind bushel baskets in the kitchen one day and buckling on a guard's armor in the weapons gallery the next.

"We know how hard this is," Fili said seriously, "but that uncle wants you safe, and you know that danger could be out there.

She tossed her head stubbornly. Erebor had many delights, and she wanted to see them all. She wanted to spend more time in the library looking through rare volumes, peruse the art and sculpture galleries, and watch the gem smiths cut their precious stones. Erebor was a vast treasure of new experiences, but If Thorin had his way, she would see only the inside of the infirmary and its closet. She put her hands on her more ample waist. Thanks to the princes' strict regimen of tag-team force-feedings, she had filled out some, and they were elated with their success. She would never have a dwarven figure, but the added weight made her less objectionable. However, Thorin's warning that she was clever and resourceful kept them on their guard. Pulling off her veil, she huffed and bit her lip.

"I'm sure I'm safe with you," she said resentfully.

The brothers sighed and tried again to plead their case. She frowned deeply and tossed her curls. Nothing and no one was going to stop her from exploring what she hoped would be her home. Then she gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth.

"What am I _thinking?_" she said. Her rapid change of mood alarmed her armed escorts.

"What's wrong?" Kili asked.

She shook her head and put her hand against her mouth and nose.

"I can't believe I'm so selfish and thoughtless," she said, and she stamped her foot. "As long as I'm free, another maid is taking my punishment, and I'll bet it's Bemma."

"Who's Bemma?" Fili asked.

She exhaled, and her mouth thinned as her eyes took on a fierce light that the brothers had never seen before in any dwarrowdam except their mother.

"Only the sweetest among us," she said, "and one who secretly ministered to my cuts and bruises. Your princess guessed that she was helping me but could never prove it. Now she doesn't have to."

Fili scratched his mustache and suggested talking to Thorin. To interfere in the affairs of another clan's household was a serious insult. However, Erebor law prevented the punishment of servants without Thorin's and Council of Domestic Affairs' approval.

"He'll handle this," Fili said. "She can make a complaint."

Relianna snorted and pulled a face.

"No one dares take on Princess Onkra when their livelihoods and families depend on her goodwill. She finds ways to keep them practically in bondage until they can't work anymore. I don't know how she does it, but they're too afraid to complain. I'm the only one without family, so I can't be threatened."

Kili scratched his head.

"Why then do you keep working for her when you don't have to?"

Her face suddenly closed, and she swallowed hard.

"I have my reasons."

Fili put his hand on her arm.

"We need to wait. Uncle Thorin will listen," he said confidently. "He'll give them asylum if need be, and Lord Dain won't object. But we need uncle to investigate this."

"No doubt after his important morning meeting," she said. "Most worthy, I'm sure, but Bemma's in trouble now!"

After arguing over the foolishness of her storming into Onkra's chambers, Fili and Kili said that they would get Thorin out of the council meeting.

"It'll take some time to figure out how to handle this," Fili said, taking her hand, "but you must swear not to do anything rash."

After much hesitation and pursing her lips, she nodded. They left her with Balin and Dwalin and headed down to the council chamber to find Thorin.

Meanwhile, her new protectors urged her to wait in the infirmary, and they walked off as crowded as eggs in a basket.

"Do you really need to stand so close?" she asked Dwalin, whose breath puffed the veil around her face. She turned to nearly bump noses with Balin.

"My lords!" she exclaimed, "I'm indeed grateful for your constant care, but I need to visit the privy now, and I'm quite certain you don't wish to go in there with me."

They took a step back in unison. Dwalin harrumphed and shifted his feet while Balin's nose turned bright red.

"Uh, no, lass," he said, rocking back and forth on his heels, "we, um, don't need to go in, but we'll wait outside the door.

She nodded with satisfaction and walked between them with a little smile on her face. Dwarves stopped to stare at a maid walking with two dwarf lords. She looked around and saw disapproval on their faces.

"Walk in front of me," she hissed, "we're attracting too much attention."

Balin looked around and pulled on his brother's arm. She exhaled in relief. To her mind, Thorin was being ridiculously overprotective. Guards were everywhere, and she was in the company of both royalty and nobility. What could happen? She had never felt safer and relaxed her guard. If only everyone else felt the same! Her veil blew out in front from her breath. She relished her freedom from Princess Onkra only to feel just as confined from well-meaning advisors. However, her main concern now was seeing that her friend was safe.

Other maids adjusted their veils and primped in front of the ornate mirrors in the sumptuous gold-appointed privy, and she looked around with a wicked smile on her face. Walking down the corridor and out into the main hall with other maids, she passed right by Dwalin and Balin at the door, suppressing a little giggle as she glided past. The old warriors waited longer at the hall entrance, trying not to look embarrassed until they couldn't wait any longer.

"Oi," Dwalin said, "how long do wee maids take to do their business?"

Balin scratched his chin and shrugged his shoulders. They waited another minute before they decided to see for themselves. Balin tiptoed down the hall while Dwalin kept watch.

"Is, um, anyone in there?" Balin asked nervously. "Ah," and he turned, grabbed Dwalin's elbow, and marched them away.

Dwalin tore his arm from his grasp and put his hands on his hips.

"She got away, didn't she?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Balin sighed.

"We better go see Thorin, brother."

"He won't be happy to see _us_ for certain," Dwalin replied.

Balin shook his head.

"Aye, for certain he won't," he replied. "I told him that he needed to tell the lass about Zozer, but he didn't want to scare her."

At the same time, Fili and Kili made their case to Thorin.

"She's like an unbroken filly," Kili said. "We can't rein her in, uncle. She keeps trying to escape."

His comment only drew a secret smile from Thorin, and his nephew exhaled in frustration.

"You need to tell her, Uncle Thorin," Fili said after Kili threw up his hands. "She'd be much more cooperative if she knew of Zozer. As it is, she's almost given us the slip twice. Now she's on about another maid's mistreatment. We told her you'd look into it."

Thorin's brows creased. They did have a point, to be sure, but he was loath to make her fear for her life when he wanted her instead to fall in love with Erebor. He thought it most important that she love his mountain as he did and see her place within its walls. Raking one hand over his head, he sighed. Her safety _was_ paramount, and her knowing would put her on her guard. Just then Dwalin and Balin walked in dejectedly and faced their kin.

"Where is she?" Thorin asked with alarm. "Is she with Oin?"

Dwalin looked to his brother whose shoulders dropped.

"No, laddie," Balin said, "she gave us the slip at the privy."

Fili and Kili shook their heads at her headstrong nature, and Thorin paced and then whirled around and wrote out a series of instructions.

"First, I want to know if any maids have left the mountain, so give this to the guards at the gate and tell them to keep watch," he said, handing Balin a parchment. "Next, I want you, Dwalin, to quietly double the guard. No one knows what Zozer looks like except that he's so ordinary as to be invisible. Tell them to watch for someone who fits that description. I'd put him as a slightly younger than Oin if the stories are true."

He turned to his nephews and asked about the mistreated maid. Fili and Kili stood with their mouths open and turned to each other. Then they ran out the door with Thorin shouting after them.

* * *

Relianna marched down the long corridor to Onkra's chambers with fire in her eyes. She stood outside the door and took several breaths, trying to slow her thumping heart. Then she wiped her hands on her dress. Returning to Onkra was something she thought she'd never do again, but she couldn't leave Bemma and the others. She closed her eyes and asked Mahal for strength when she heard the whimpers and cries of one of the maids. Cursing under her breath, she opened the door without knocking to see Bemma held down by two large dwarves while Onkra danced a leather strap on her back.

"Let her go!" she shouted. All looked up in surprise, and Relianna tore off her veil to stand there in front of her former tormentor. The other servants gasped, and the two dwarves holding Bemma down loosened their grip as they stared at the maid whose face they never saw.

"Dain," one whispered to the other.

Onkra showed no surprise. Instead, her face twisted in cruel satisfaction. Relianna stare defiantly at her, and the Princess of the Iron Hills screamed her outrage.

"How dare you face me, mongrel by-blow! Lower your gaze! I am a royal _princess!_"

Relianna stood as tall as she could and refused to look down. Onkra's bulk shifted, and she flushed. Relianna's face hardened.

"Apparently, so am I," she said, "and it appears that you knew all along."

Princess Onkra grinned as best she was able and lifted her chins.

"Always," she gloated while she smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt. "I only gave you what you deserve, as my family gave your slut of a mother what _she_ deserved."

Before the guards could react, Relianna dashed forward and slapped her half-sister with all her strength. The smack of her hand echoed against the stone walls, and all the maids and servants gasped loudly and cringed. Onkra instinctively put her hand to her face. Red streaks began to creep out from under her fingers.

"I owe you a great many back payments, _sister,_ but that's the only one I'll allow myself for mother's memory."

Onkra rattled and shrieked like a tea kettle and looked around for anything she could grab, but nothing was in range. With a shaking hand, she ordered her guards to restrain Relianna. They snapped out of their stupor, grabbed her arms, and forced her to her knees.

"Good help is hard to find, slut," Onkra said venomously, "so I hired some from _my_ mother's side. I pay well for loyalty," and she nodded to one guard who picked up the leather strap.

"I've missed this, wench."

Bemma ran forward and pulled at one dwarf's arms, but he pushed her off, and she landed on the floor.

"Bemma!" Relianna cried over her shoulder. The others stood uneasily and murmured among themselves but did nothing. With a contented smile, Onkra ran the leather strap through her hands and tied a few knots along its length. She had raised her arm as high as she could when an angry voice shouted from the door.

"Stop!" All turned to see Fili and Kili with their swords drawn. The guards hesitated at the fixed and determined glares of the Durin princes. Onkra lowered her whip and laid it across her lap.

"Ah, cousins," she said dismissively, "there's nothing for you here. I'm just disciplining a servant, which is my right. She actually assaulted me. Can you believe such a thing? I'm sure you'll agree that punishment is warranted."

Kili's dark eyes flashed up to Onkra with disbelief while Fili pointed his two swords at the guards.

"Release her," he said, his voice more commanding that it had ever been, "and you _might_ spare yourself the dungeon."

At that, Onkra snorted and waved her hand to dismiss their words.

"You have no say here, cousins," she said, "so you'd best leave before father hears of this."

Kili grinned darkly.

"We'd be happy to tell him ourselves, _Onkra,_" he replied, "but we have business with Relianna now, so she comes with us."

Onkra smirked and daintily pushed aside a wisp of hair from her cheek. She batted her sparse lashes and pulled her lips back in an insincere smile.

"Oh, and what business might that be? I didn't think you liked skinny mixed-bloods, but perhaps I'm mistaken."

The brothers breathed through clenched teeth, and all braced for bloodshed. Then Relianna pulled her arms away and stood up.

"By order of King Thorin," she said in a ringing voice, "all servants of Princess Onkra are hereby commanded to leave her service for positions here at Erebor. In addition, your families will be relocated here at his expense."

No one said a word. Then Kili bumped Fili.

"Aye," Fili said hastily. He looked around and then warmed to the task. "King Thorin has heard of your treatment here and on his authority as lord of these lands, he hereby releases you from all obligation to Princess Onkra. You will, uh, receive double your usual pay and …"

"Compensation for your ill treatment at her hands," Kili added smartly.

Onkra's mouth opened and closed, but the roughly 25 servants looked at each other amazed and almost ran out the door with cries of joy. The guards drew their swords, but Thorin's personal guard entered fully armed, and they backed down.

"Take them to the dungeon," Fili ordered. Kili clapped him on the back after the guards left with the two dwarves in chains.

"Well done, brother," he whispered. "Uncle would be proud."

Onkra sat alone in her chair, her eyes bulging out, and her mouth wobbling in rage. Relianna turned to her. Her face softened, and she shook her head sadly.

"Things could have been so different, sister. I understand your bitterness, but we could have helped each other in our pain."

The obese princess turned nearly purple at her words and spat in her face.

"Whore!" she screamed. "Whore like your mother!"

Fili and Kili yelled in outrage, but Relianna stood there silently and wiped the spittle from her cheek.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said with forced calm, "but I think now a lesson in humility and gratitude is in order. Perhaps when you realize how much you depend on others, you won't be so cruel," and she turned and grabbed Kili's sword out of his hand. In one sharp move, she slashed a front leg of Onkra's chair.

"We're done here," she said, and they turned and left.

"What was that for?" Kili asked after they closed the door on Onkra's shrieks and curses.

"Just wait," she replied. Fili started laughing, but Kili looked confused until they heard a scream and crash.

"Very clever, aunt!" he said with an admiring grin.

She took both their arms.

"You accept me then?"

They scooped her up in a bear hug.

"After what we saw," Fili said, "we'd be daft not to."

Then Kili frowned.

"I thought you promised not to do anything rash."

She turned with a flounce of her shoulder.

"It wasn't," she said. "It was very well planned."

They laughed together while walking back with the guards that Thorin sent.

* * *

**OK, you know what to do, so please review!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Here's a chapter that sets up some things coming later while Thorin struggles with his insecurity. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 17**

Kili took Relianna back to the infirmary while Fili went with the guards to the Hall of Audiences where Thorin stood completely at a loss for why so many servants had flung themselves prostrate at his feet and crying in relief.

"A word, uncle," Fili said seriously. As soon as the servants saw him, they cheered and shouted praises. The bolder ones stood and rushed to kiss his hands. Fili inclined his head solemnly and bid the guards to take them to the dining hall and ask Bombur to prepare cold platters on his authority. As one, the servants turned obediently and filed out the door murmuring in excitement.

"Stay with them until we send for them," he ordered the guards.

Thorin had never seen his nephew so commanding—with his personal guard nonetheless—and had many questions, but only one mattered at the moment.

"Is she safe? Is she well?" he demanded.

"Aye, uncle," Fili replied with a long exhale, "Kili took her back to Oin."

He put his hands on his hips and paced for a moment to gather his thoughts. Thorin couldn't help seeing the similarity between them in that moment, but he worried that something serious had happened for his nephew to be so grim.

"What is it?" he demanded. "What happened?"

Fili shook his head, his lips twisting between a smile at Relianna's boldness and a scowl at Onkra's cruelty. He decided to start there and speak plainly. His uncle would stand for nothing less.

"Relianna went to face Onkra and save a maid who was being beaten in her stead,"  
he began in a low but steady voice. "Onkra let the maid go but had two dwarves in her employ grab Relianna and push her to her knees. She intended to whip her instead with a knotted leather strap. I gathered that it was her common practice."

Thorin cried out and pushed his fist against his mouth. He didn't trust himself to speak but instead waved his hand for Fili to continue.

"Kili and I got there in time, uncle," he said, rushing to calm Thorin. "No harm came to her."

Thorin visibly relaxed and braced his hands on a table on the side of the room with his back to his nephew while he tried to calm himself.

"Her guards were ready to fight us, and such ugly brutes I'd never seen, uncle, but then," and he started chuckling in admiration, "Relianna said that by your order all Onkra's servants were released from their obligations. I was surprised but agreed and commanded them to leave for positions here at Erebor."

Thorin turned back, and his mouth dropped open in shock. It was a high crime to issue orders in the king's name without his consent, and she seemed to do it with ease. He would have to have a stern talk with her later. He understood her wish to help, and he didn't fault her for that, but Erebor could have only one ruler. Taking a deep breath, he waved Fili on.

"Just when I thought we would have to fight, your guards appeared and took them to the dungeon on my order."

Then he started laughing, and Thorin looked up confused.

"I think Kili and I have fallen for Relianna, uncle!"

Thorin's eyes narrowed, and his face tightened.

"Not the same way I hope, nephew," he grumbled warningly.

Fili immediately sobered and tugged on his jerkin to make himself more presentable.

"Not at all, uncle," he said hastily, "but she has gumption and yet so much compassion. She tried to make peace with Onkra, but that fat sow spit in her face"—Thorin inhaled sharply—"so she took Kili's sword and slashed Onkra's chair leg. After we closed the door, we heard a scream and crash. I'll bet she's still laying there and without any servants to help her."

Thorin chuckled with Fili at her resourcefulness.

"She's wonderfully clever, uncle," Fili said, lost in admiration, "and now with the extra weight, she's even beautiful, I think. Our time with her certainly shows.

Thorin appraised his worshipful demeanor, not at all pleased with the dreamy look on his face.

"What time?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice.

Fili smiled, missing Thorin's agitation.

"Oh, Kili and I spend almost every hour and meal with her except for her time with you. I've never seen Kili so excited about anything since the quest. I think it makes him feel good to be needed, and he's making plans to escort her around Erebor. No one will look twice since he's been seen with many maids."

Thorin's brow creased. _He_ wanted to show her his mountain and take her to all his special places—especially the private family garden that his mother designed so he could propose _officially._

"Oh, and he's taking her to grandmother's garden tonight. You can get a good view of the stars from there."

Thorin's blood rushed into his ears, muffling out Fili's last words.

"He what?" he roared. "He might as well declare himself!"

Fili held out his hands, his face both fearful and apologetic.

"He's just trying to keep her busy, uncle," he said hurriedly. "She's been desperate to go outside, and he's only trying to make her comfortable. He's doing this for you."

"Is he?" Thorin asked sarcastically. "Are you _sure?_"

Just then Balin and Dwalin walked in.

"What are those servants from the Iron Hills doing in the dining hall?" Balin asked. "Thorin?"

Their king gnashed his teeth and whirled on his friends.

"Anyone else plotting to take Relianna from me?

Dwalin's brows rose while he looked from Fili to his king. Fili shook his head slightly, his eyes pleading for someone to intervene. Balin sighed and rolled his eyes. He knew that Thorin's insecurity about Relianna's feelings for him was fueling his jealousy. However, he decided for once not to be the voice of reason and instead let Thorin stew in it until he saw its absurdity for himself.

"Now that you mention it, my lord," he said amiably, "I heard a number of your guards complimenting her bravery and beauty. Perhaps some might be bold enough to seek her favor. She's a comely lass for certain. If only _I_ were a few years younger. What do _you_ say, Dwalin? She's a much better catch than Lady Fregma."

Dwalin glared daggers at his brother while Thorin stood there with his chest heaving, his eyes bulging almost as much as Onkra's did a short time ago. He looked from face to face, seeing fear on Fili's, frustration on Dwalin's, and rebuke on Balin's. He crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his teeth.

"What are you all playing at?" he bit out. "No one will take her from me. No one!"

"Who's trying?" Balin said in exasperation. "You're imagining things, laddie, and you'll drive yourself mad if you go on this way."

The sound of his breathing filled the room.

"I have every right to be protective," he argued. "She's in danger, and I fear for her."

The others nodded, knowing it to be true, but Balin was undeterred by his efforts to avoid the real issue.

"More like you fear that a younger dwarrow will catch her eye," he said flatly. "You don't trust her, do you?"

Thorin scowled and made a show of indignation that fooled no one.

"She's all that's honorable and noble-hearted," he said firmly, "as well as loyal and kind."

"But you're not sure she loves you, are you, lad?" Balin persisted.

Thorin stopped pacing and instead shuffled awkwardly about as though he didn't know that to do with his hands and feet. He fingered papers, moved objects on a table, and tried different positions, but none were comfortable. The others waited patiently. Finally, he wrapped his arms around himself, hugging his middle.

"I am ... uncertain of her affections," he bit out. He bowed his head and sighed painfully.

All looked at each other and, surprisingly, Fili spoke first.

"How can you be, uncle? We all see she loves you."

"I'm not so sure it's more than infatuation," he replied.

"So why don't you ask her then and be done with it?" Dwalin asked, most reasonably he thought.

Thorin dismissed his words with an impatient flick of his fingers.

"And seem like a green youth begging for her favors?"

Balin snorted.

"So instead you're jealous of anyone who even looks at her and suspicious of your nephews who're doing everything they can to keep her safe."

Then he hit the mark like an arrow in the bull's-eye.

"You're just worried because you think you're too old for her or that you won't match up to her childish imaginings."

Thorin went still, and Balin knew he was right.

"But she has more reason to question _your_ motives, laddie," he continued. "I'm sure Queen Relia told her the good and the bad, yet you only met her a few weeks ago. A short time indeed to fall in love, yet she's not doubting _you_."

Thorin's face twisted in pain, and they barely heard his next words.

"Onkra said she had a lover, that healer she traveled with."

Fili pulled a face.

"And you believe her? Consider the source, uncle. If anyone's not trustworthy, it's her!"

Dwalin loudly seconded his words, and Thorin's brows drew together. He was still unconvinced.

"And if she had, laddie, would you still want her?" Balin asked with more than a hint of irony. "It's not as if you're as pure as a mountain spring."

Thorin put his fists to his eyes to blot out the memory. He was young and new to strong spirits when the sons of other noble dwarves took him to a notorious pub to celebrate his birthday. Knowing that he was inexperienced, they got him drunk for the first time and pushed a comely barmaid at him. He remembered the heat and the urgency but also the shame and disgust when he woke up in bed with her the next morning. What was worse was his awakened physical urge led him to continue seeking her out until he finally suppressed his lust with duty and responsibility.

"It's not the same thing!" he retorted angrily. "I didn't _live_ with a lover!"

Dwalin waited a beat. "What's that saying about the pot calling the kettle black?"

Balin chuckled.

"Oh, yes," he replied with a pointed look at Thorin, "I believe it has something to do with hypocrisy."

They waited until the angry flush on his face subsided.

"I apologize for my words," he forced himself to say. "They were unwarranted."

Balin nodded in satisfaction, and Dwalin and Fili exhaled in relief.

"Aye, laddie," he said, then his face turned stern. "You've never been rational about the lass, and we understand to a point, but you can't let your feelings make you suspect everyone else. No one's done anything wrong, and you'll hurt the lass if you're not careful, not to mention push away those you need to help you. If you want her, you'll have to take her as she is, history and all, just as she'll have to take you."

Thorin nodded, his head down.

"Still," he said, "still, I want to approve her activities. There _are_ some I want to keep for myself."

"I'll talk to Kili, uncle," Fili said quickly.

"You do that."

Then he ordered them to the dining hall to quiz the servants on their skills and interests while he wrote a message to Dain.

"I've had enough of him for this week," he said to them. He gave a sentry the message. "This will explain enough, and he can send some of his own servants to attend Onkra unless they want to join the throng."

Meanwhile, Relianna leafed through books that Kili brought until she had enough and then poked around Oin's stores of herbs and salves when a dwarf wearing the robes of a healer came in.

"There you are, my dear," he said cheerfully. "Oin ordered a little more food for you and something to calm your nerves. You've had a trying day, I hear, but I applaud your pluck."

She put the book down and surveyed him coolly.

"Where is Oin, Master Dwarf, or Lady Nella?" she asked. "I thought one of them would be here by now."

His laughter was warm and jolly, and she couldn't help smiling in return.

"Why lass," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "you can't expect them to be here _all _the time." Then he took her hand and kissed it. "My name is Befrin, my lady, and Oin sent me to watch over things until he got back."

Then he gave her a sly grin.

"I see you have an interest in healing, lass," he said. "Tell me, what skills do you have?"

He patted the edge of a bed, and she sat down next to him. He asked many questions about her experiences and what she knew, and she shared about the various outbreaks of disease she had seen.

"Truly terrible," he said, nodding in sympathy. "We've been working on a treatment for a pox that leaves disfiguring marks, but with no success yet. However, I'm sure we're close."

Then he eyed her speculatively.

"So do you have any _special_ skills? You sound quite accomplished."

She sat quietly for a moment. His questions were friendly enough, but she felt uncomfortable telling him more.

"I suppose I learned what I needed to at the time," she said thoughtfully. "Sometimes you can only learn a skill when you're confronted with a situation. I learned to set bones after a mining accident, and grandfather and I treated an outbreak of pneumonia and learned that a steam made with pungent herbs can sometimes draw up the phlegm. We still lost too many though."

He patted her knee.

"But you saved more than you lost, I'll be bound."

His gaze was so understanding and heartfelt that she became more at ease.

"So your grandfather was a healer as well, eh?" he asked. "What did he teach you?"

She looked up at him and tried not to cry, and he patted her hand.

"You don't have to tell me, lass," he said softly. "I don't want to reduce you to a puddle on my watch. Oin would never forgive me."

She brushed a tear off her cheek and straightened up. She decided that she like this dwarf. He had such an easy way about him that he immediately made her feel safe.

"No, I'm well," she said. "I suppose the greatest thing grandfather taught me was to never give up hope and fight until the end to save each person. _But_ if things do go badly, know that you did the best you could and not blame yourself."

He nodded sagely.

"Very sound advice, my dear," he said. Then he turned to the tray. "Now something to eat and drink. I'm sure you're hungry."

She looked to the laden tray and then back at him.

"Surely I can't eat in front of you," she said. "Why don't you join me?"

He patted his stomach and grinned ruefully. "Do I look like I need to eat any more," and they laughed together.

"Oin said he'd be back soon, so maybe I'll share this with him," she said.

He turned stern.

"Now don't be sharing food that's meant for you lass. Healer's orders," and he pushed the tray toward her. "And drink up. You must be parched."

Then they heard a noise in the hall and the sound of footsteps.

"Well," Befrin said with a smile, "shift's up," and he patted her hand gently and headed out another door.

No sooner had the door closed when Thorin came in. Forgetting the tray, she jumped up to hug him, and he pulled her close. Then he held her away from him and gripped her shoulders. He determined to put his fears and doubts behind him for the moment. They would need to talk at some point, but for now, he just wanted to forget his embarrassing outburst and move on.

"I heard what happened, Relianna," he said solemnly, "and while I'm proud of you for standing up for others, I want to know exactly what happened."

She sat down like a chastened child and folded her hands in her lap. Thorin looked over and saw the tray. It was filled with tempting fare, and the red wine with fruit added smelled delicious.

"Do you want to eat first?" he asked. "You must be hungry."

She shook her head.

"Not anymore," she said in a small voice. "Besides, I'd rather eat later with you."

He pushed the tray away and listened to what happened. He huffed in annoyance at her deceiving Balin and Dwalin and clenched his knuckles until they turned white at her recounting of Onkra's words and outrageous behavior.

"I still can't believe that she always knew. She knew and never told her father. If it weren't for Fili and Kili coming in to save me, I don't know what would have happened," she said tremulously. Then she took a deep breath and shook off her fear. "They were so brave, Thorin, like princes of old coming to rescue the damsel in distress. They were so dashing and fierce."

Thorin watched her eyes shine as she recounted what Fili and Kili said and did, and he felt a twist in his gut. She seemed to have a preference for dramatic acts of valor and noble sacrifices, but _did_ she care only for the image of the perfect prince in her mind? Would she be as excited to live with the mundane duties of leadership and the more ordinary aspects of living together as husband and wife? His doubts and fears tried to resurrect themselves, but he forcibly refused to dwell on them. He recalled Dwalin's advice to simply ask her, but he was afraid to prove his fears true.

"Relianna," he started, "I understand why you did what you did, but you can _never _give an order in my name again. _Ever_. I am king, and you are not to use my authority without my expressed permission. Is that clear?"

She nodded with her head down.

"I'm so sorry, my lord," she said softly. "I was so angry and frightened for my friends. It was the only thing I could think of at the time."

"Thorin," he said lifting her chin. Then he rubbed her hands as he thought of one more thing he wanted to ask. "Now that I think of it, just how did you arrange that outing where we met?"

She shifted and squirmed under his steady gaze.

"Do I have to tell?" she asked plaintively. "Isn't it enough that I promise never to do it again?"

"No."

She huffed and hugged herself.

"I, uh, forged your writing and signature from the notes you wrote and told a sentry that Dolor had dropped it when he walked by carrying a number of parchments. The sentry was only too glad to give to back him, and, well, you know what happened next."

He was astounded. Her plan was so simple and yet ingenious.

"So never again, aye?" he asked.

"Never," she said. Then she peeked at him under her lashes. "Are you mad at me?"

He scooped her up and kissed her. With her in his arms, he could sweep away any reservation. Everything felt so right that it _must_ be right.

"No," he said smiling, "but I admit that your cleverness has me worried."

She smiled coyly. "I thought you enjoyed playing chess with a worthy opponent."

He grinned and tickled her until he had her pinned on the bed, holding her wrists above her head. She licked her lips, and her chest rose and fell from exertion. His eyes darkened, and he felt himself weakening. She had filled out some—or rather ripened—and he knew he'd better get ahold of himself at once.

"Aye, well," he said sitting up and pulling her back to sit beside him. "If you'd rather eat with me, I'll order fresh platters."

He walk out the door and gave orders to an attendant only to find Dolor waiting for him.

"Your Majesty," he said with a formal bow, "the time is approaching for you to select a bride. I trust by now that you have someone in mind?"

Thorin pursed his lips, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away, and Dolor smiled greedily.

"Ah!" he said. "Very good. Now if you'll give us her name, we'll research her fortune and the strategy needed to make the most out of the betrothal."

Thorin's face turned fierce.

"I will not," he said firmly. "You forced this on me, but it was _not_ stipulated to subject her to an inquisition."

Dolor spluttered.

"But we need to make sure that your choice is the most advantageous possible!"

Thorin leaned close, and Dolor shied away from his angry face.

"Advantageous to whom, Dolor? To you? To the council? I don't recall that being a condition, and you will _not_ make it so. Am I clear?"

Dolor fumed, but there was nothing he could do. Then he looked at the door behind Thorin.

"It's been noticed that you spend more time than usual in the sick rooms, my lord," he said unctuously. "May I ask why?"

Thorin's lip curled.

"To remedy my continually sour stomach, Dolor, but I'm sure my malady will pass at the end of the month."

"And that is only five days away, sire," he replied snidely. "I hope you're _sure_ of your choice."

Thorin watched him walk away, and his stomach started churning. He was sure he wanted Relianna, but his thoughts started whirling in his mind. Remembering Balin's words, he fought to dismiss his rising doubts. He turned and put his hand on the door with a sigh before he entered again with a slightly forced smile on his face.

* * *

**We're coming down to the wire, and some things will come to a head in the next chapter. I hope you liked and please review!**


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